


Blood Ties 5: Legacies

by Dawn (sunrize83)



Series: Blood Ties [5]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 17:55:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 51,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16330841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunrize83/pseuds/Dawn





	1. Chapter 1

Alexandria  
Friday  
6:30 p.m.  
  


"And the crowd goes wild!" 

Bent over and panting with his hands braced on his knees, Mulder  
regarded Grey's victory dance with wry amusement. Straightening  
up, he used the bottom of his sweatshirt to swipe the perspiration  
from his face. 

"Didn't your mother ever give you the talk on being a poor  
winner?" he asked dryly. 

Grey favored him with a large grin, spinning the basketball  
expertly on the tip of his index finger. "How many times have I put  
up with losing to you? At last, my reputation has been vindicated!" 

"Yeah, yeah," Mulder said, slouching off the court. "I think this is  
what's known as 'dumb luck.'" 

"If you say so, little brother," Grey replied smugly as he fell into  
step with Mulder. "I prefer to think of it as a return to the natural  
order." 

"Speaking of nature," Mulder said, waggling his eyebrows.  
“What's up with Agent Harding?" 

"Nice segue," Grey snorted, shooting him a sharp look. 

"Thanks. You going to answer the question?" 

Grey sighed deeply and tipped his head back to gaze up into the  
darkened sky. The city lights obscured many of the stars, but a  
nearly full moon illuminated the clear November evening. Kate  
had loved the fall with the passion of a child -- raking piles of  
brightly colored leaves only to scatter them with a belly flop,  
carving pumpkins into jack-o-lanterns, evenings sipping tea in  
front of the fireplace. 

"You aren't thinking of Kristen, are you?" Mulder asked quietly. 

Grey dribbled the basketball, the thwack, thwack of vinyl against  
pavement soothing to his suddenly restless spirit. 

"Kristen is terrific. She's beautiful, and smart, and fun to be with." 

"But...?" 

Grey caught the ball and tucked it up under his left arm, running  
the fingers of his right hand through his damp hair. "But when I'm  
with her... This is hard, Fox," he said abruptly, frustration written  
in the clench of his jaw. 

"I know. Take your time." 

Grey sucked in a long draught of air and blew it out slowly. "I  
thought I was over the hard part, that I'd weathered the worst of the  
pain from losing Kate. But dating Kristen -- it's like someone  
sharpened the knife. I'll be with her, having a great time, and then  
\-- God, it sounds so cold, but I find myself comparing her to Kate  
and..." 

"And she doesn't measure up," Mulder finished gently. "Try not to  
beat yourself up over it, Grey, it's a completely normal reaction.  
Grief is a process, you can't rush it no matter how much you might  
like to." 

"It's not fair to Kristen, though," Grey pointed out, shoulders  
hunched guiltily. "I've considered breaking things off, telling her I  
can't see her any more, but..." 

"But?" 

Grey closed his eyes briefly, then turned to gaze at his brother.  
"But I've been so damn lonely. And in spite of everything else, it  
feels good to have someone in my life again." He shook his head  
ruefully. "Pretty selfish, huh?" 

"Depends. Have you talked to Kristen about what you've been  
feeling?" Mulder asked carefully. 

"Yeah, I've been up front from the beginning. She knows all about  
Kate and she's been really understanding. Like I said, she's  
terrific." 

Mulder shrugged. "Then I think you need to stop feeling guilty and  
do the best you can to move forward -- whether that ultimately  
means with Kristen or with someone else. You know, it isn't a  
crime to be happy with someone who's not the least bit like Kate,  
Grey." 

Grey's smile was pale but genuine. "Yeah, I know it's not a crime.  
It's just difficult to accept. Can you honestly picture yourself with  
anyone other than Dana?" 

A kaleidoscope of images cascaded through his mind, melting  
from one to the next. Phoebe Green, Bambi Berenbaum, Kristen  
Kilar, Diana Fowley -- attractions that at best could be described as  
empty, at worst painful. All insignificant sparks eclipsed by the  
supernova that was his Scully. 

"No," he admitted softly. "I guess I can't."  


Grey's gaze softened. "I had what you have, Fox. Once you've  
experienced it, you don't want to settle for less." 

They arrived at Mulder's building and he fumbled his keys from  
the pocket of his sweats. He started to slip one into the lock, but  
paused. "What Scully and I have didn't happen overnight, Grey.  
Give it a chance." 

The tickle in the back of his throat hit just as the elevator doors  
closed. Mulder braced one hand on the wall and surrendered  
helplessly to the wave of dry, hacking coughs. They abated a bit by  
the time the elevator reached his floor, though sporadically one  
would sneak past his defenses. 

"You all right?" Grey asked, concerned. 

"I'm fine," Mulder assured him, blinking tears back. "It's just the  
tail end of a cold that I can't seem to shake." 

"Maybe we shouldn't have been shooting hoops like that, it is  
pretty chilly out there," Grey persisted, still frowning. 

"I said I'm fine. Really. I've already got Scully on my back about  
this, I don't need you too," Mulder replied impatiently. He twirled  
the keyring on his finger. "That is, unless you'd like to concede that  
the only reason you beat me tonight was because I'm still under the  
weather..." 

"Nice try, little brother." 

Mulder opened the apartment door, emitting a waft of warm air  
and a delicious smell. Scully stood at the stove, stirring the  
contents of a large pot which seemed to be the origin of the mouth-  
watering odor. Casually clad in jeans and a pale blue sweater, she  
tucked a strand of copper hair behind one ear and flashed them a  
welcoming smile. 

"'Bout time, you two. That must have been some game." 

Mulder glared at his brother and held up a warning finger. "Don't  
say it." 

Grey's eyes widened and he pressed one palm to his heart. "Me?  
Joke about the fact that not only did I beat you, but by six points?  
It never entered my mind, Fox." 

"You are so not funny," Mulder grumbled, but any further response  
was cut off by another series of coughs. 

Scully's eyes narrowed and she set down the spoon and walked  
over. "Mulderrr." 

"It just started!" he said defensively, holding up both hands as if to  
ward her off. 

Scully contented herself with folding her arms and glaring. Mulder  
squirmed under the force of her gaze. 

"Sculleee! I swear, I was fine until I came back inside. It was just  
triggered by the switch from cold to warm air, I'll be fine in a  
minute." His protest was unconvincingly punctuated by another  
cough. 

"He's right, Dana, he didn't cough while we were playing," Grey  
spoke up when Scully looked less than satisfied. 

She pursed her lips. "Fine. But if this thing hangs on much longer  
Mulder, you *will* see a doctor. You've been nursing this cold for  
a month." 

"It's a deal. Now get back there and finish my dinner, woman!"  
Mulder returned, pasting on a look of mock severity. 

"Watch it, Mulder. That wasn't funny the first time," she warned,  
but resumed her stirring. 

"Smells delicious, Dana. What is it?" Grey asked curiously. 

"Irish stew. My mother sent it. She knows it's one of the few ways  
to get Mulder to consume vegetables. With all the gravy, he doesn't  
really notice he's eating them." 

"Ha, ha." Mulder growled. 

"Well as the victor, I'm claiming the first shower," Grey  
announced, ignoring his brother's rolled eyes. "Be out in a few." 

When he'd ducked out of sight around the corner, Mulder moved to  
stand behind Scully, slipping his arms around her waist and  
leaning his chin on the top of her head. With a soft puff of air she  
leaned back into his embrace. 

"It does smell wonderful, babe," he said, tilting his head to press a  
kiss to her temple. "Thanks for sharing." 

Scully turned her own head to return the kiss on his lips. "I wasn't  
kidding, Mulder. She makes this for you, not me. My mother has  
made it her mission in life to help take care of you ever since..."  
She faltered, then resumed cheerfully. "Anyway, what's mine is  
yours -- within reason." 

Mulder grinned and pulled her soft body closer to his own. "Same  
here, Scully. I'd be glad to give you anything I've got," he said in  
the husky voice he knew drove her crazy. 

Her lips quirked. "Later, Mulder." Realizing she had the perfect  
introduction for a topic that weighed heavily on her mind, Scully  
plunged ahead. "Mulder, I noticed that your lease is coming due." 

She didn't need to see his face; his entire body became rigid. Hurt  
vied with annoyance and Scully struggled to smother them both. 

"Yeah, next month," he said woodenly. 

Scully lowered the flame on the burner and turned in his arms. Just  
as she'd expected, his face was studiously blank. Times like these  
she wondered what she was doing with this man whose mercurial  
moods could shift in the blink of an eye. One moment he would  
offer her his heart on a silver platter, the next, guard it as jealously  
as a miser hoards his gold. Mulder was the first person to admit  
that he carried a fair amount of baggage, and at times Scully found  
the load almost unbearably heavy. 

"I thought we'd discussed a more permanent solution to the living  
arrangements," she said quietly. "It seems crazy to pay double rent  
when we're essentially living together." 

Mulder shrugged, his eyes skimming hers but never quite meeting  
them. "I know what you're saying, Scully. I just don't think we  
should rush into anything. Anyway, I'm not sure all our stuff would  
fit into your place." 

*Patience. Remember who you're talking to. The man has been  
either emotionally or physically abandoned by everyone he's cared  
about.* 

Scully reached up to lay a hand on his cheek. "Mulder, we don't  
have to live in my apartment. We can find someplace that belongs  
to both of us. I don't really care where we live, as long as we're  
together." 

Mulder pressed his own hand over hers, closing his eyes and  
swallowing hard. When he opened them, she was stricken to see  
fear mingling with love in the hazel depths. 

"I want that too, Scully," he murmured. "I just need a little time to  
get used to the idea." 

With a soft exhalation of resignation, Scully slipped her arms  
around his waist and leaned her cheek against his chest. The  
sweatshirt was soft under her cheek, the faint smell of his sweat  
mixed with the residue of his cologne oddly comforting. 

"Take all the time you need, love. Just don't shut me out." 

Mulder's answer, another kiss pressed to her forehead, was  
followed by Grey's reappearance in the kitchen doorway.  
"Shower's free." 

"Go," Scully urged, sending Mulder an unspoken look of  
reassurance when he gazed uncertainly into her eyes. "Dinner will  
be ready in five minutes so make it fast." 

He touched two fingers to his brow in a mock salute before  
squeezing past Grey, who was lounging against the doorframe. 

"Can I help, Dana?" 

Scully smiled warmly. "You could pour our drinks. I'll have water  
and I'm sure Mulder will want iced tea." 

Another series of barking coughs erupted from the direction of the  
bedroom and Grey watched Scully tense. Pulling three glasses out  
of the cupboard he crossed to the freezer for ice. 

"You're worried about Fox's cough," he observed. 

Scully pursed her lips and somewhat reluctantly nodded. "Not  
specifically the cough. His health in general, I guess." 

"Why? What's going on?" 

Scully hesitated, casting a guilty look at the doorway before  
answering. "It's hard to put a label to it. He never really bounced  
back after his injuries from Cole. He's had one illness after  
another." 

"Well, it *is* the cold and flu season now," Grey remarked. 

"Yes, but Mulder is normally disgustingly healthy. And it's more  
than that. His energy level is all wrong. You know what an  
insomniac the man is, but lately he's just the opposite. He's conked  
out on the couch after dinner on more nights than I can count, and I  
still have to practically drag him out of bed in the morning." 

Grey studied Scully's troubled face. "You've confronted him about  
this?" 

Scully snorted and rolled her eyes. "You saw him just now. He  
refuses to acknowledge even the possibility that something could  
be wrong. We've had more than one discussion turn into a fight  
about this. He claims it's just job stress and he needs a vacation." 

"Maybe he's right. Maybe some time off would take care of  
everything," Grey replied reasonably. "I'll agree, he looks a little  
tired. But you have to admit, Dana, that as a doctor you may be  
more apt to suspect the worst." 

Scully sighed, then managed a little grin. "I'm not used to the voice  
of reason coming from a Mulder. Thanks for providing a sounding  
board. Mulder and I have both put in for vacation time over  
Thanksgiving. I hope it will do the trick." 

She peered into the pot and glanced at the clock, frowning. "This is  
ready and I still haven't heard the shower. Would you please find  
out what he's up to?" 

She chuckled quietly to herself as Grey left the kitchen, muttering  
good-naturedly about being his brother's keeper. She extracted  
three bowls from the cupboard and lined them up on the counter,  
using a ladle to fill the first with some stew. She was just filling the  
third when Grey returned, his expression troubled. 

"What's the matter? Is he almost ready?" Scully asked, brow  
creasing in confusion. 

"Umm. I'm not sure what you want me to do. Come see for  
yourself," Grey replied uneasily. 

Fine tendrils of dread twisted in Scully's stomach as she followed  
Grey out of the kitchen to the bedroom. The sight that met her eyes  
did nothing to ease her disquiet. 

Mulder lay sprawled on the bed, sound asleep and oblivious to the  
illumination flooding the room from several lamps. It appeared  
he'd been in the process of stripping for his shower -- his shirt  
tossed carelessly on the floor and both running shoes lying beside  
his feet where his legs folded over the end of the bed. Face slack  
with slumber, his breathing deep and even, he didn't twitch when  
Scully walked over to lay the back of her hand against his  
forehead. 

"I noticed he felt a little warm when I touched him earlier, but I  
didn't mention it," she murmured. She grimaced. "It didn't seem  
worth a fight." 

"Should we just let him sleep?" 

Scully nodded, pulling an afghan from the back of a chair and  
covering Mulder's bare torso, gently tucking his arms underneath.  
Mulder mumbled something unintelligible, then quieted when she  
stroked his cheek. After turning off two of the three lights she  
slipped out of the room, leaving the door ajar. 

Grey had collected his bowl and glass and seated himself at the  
kitchen table. She joined him, but found her appetite had deserted  
her. Grey watched her stare blankly at her stew for several minutes  
before speaking. 

"Would you like me to put his in the oven?" 

Scully shook her head, dismayed to find she was precariously close  
to tears. "I'll just cover it up and he can nuke it. I'll wake him in an  
hour if he doesn't surface on his own. He needs to eat." 

Grey detected the tremor in her voice and reached out to lay his  
hand over hers. "Dana, don't make more of this than it is. He's been  
under the weather and I probably just wore him out playing ball.  
I'll talk to him tomorrow, see if I can convince him to get checked  
out." 

Scully blinked rapidly, then managed a real smile. "Thanks, Grey.  
I'd appreciate that." 

Grey held up a hand. "Hey, I didn't say he'd *listen*! But I'll give it  
my best shot. In the meantime, you need to eat too, darlin'." 

Spirits a little lighter, Scully picked up her spoon. But the stew  
tasted like sand, and the little voice in the back of her mind refused  
to be silenced.  
  


Alexandria  
Friday  
11:03 p.m.  
  


Scully was a creature of habit. Mulder lay in bed, resisting the pull  
of sleep and watching the nightly routine with heavy lidded eyes.  
She completed each step in strict order -- use bathroom, don  
pajamas, wash face, brush teeth. Mulder noted with fascination that  
teeth never came before face, pajamas before bathroom. Crazy as it  
might sound, he found comfort in that small stability amidst the  
flux of his life. 

Scully pulled back the covers, letting in a brief puff of cold air  
before she climbed under and moved to snuggle up against his  
warm body. Not too warm, she observed -- the Tylenol she'd  
forced down him earlier must have done the trick. Mulder's right  
arm curled around her body to cup her shoulder while his other  
hand sifted lazily through the silky strands of her hair. The  
tightness in her chest loosened a bit further and she sighed  
contentedly. 

"Grey settled?" Mulder asked, his voice sounding as sleepy as his  
eyes. 

"Mmhm. I feel kind of sorry for him on that couch, though. If you  
had a little more space you could trade that thing in for a sofa bed -  
\- he visits often enough." 

The remark was meant innocently, but the muscles in his arm  
coiled in response. "More space, Scully? As in a different  
apartment?" 

Scully turned her head, propping her chin on his chest to glare at  
him in annoyance. "I said to take all the time you need, Mulder. It  
was just a simple observation -- no secret agenda." 

Mulder searched her face, then relaxed, a look of contrition  
replacing wariness. "Okay. I guess I know that," he admitted  
softly. Feeling awkward, he added, "I wouldn't worry about Grey,  
that couch is very comfortable. I used to sleep on it all the time." 

Still irritated, Scully didn't answer and the silence stretched long  
and empty between them. If not for the continuous movement of  
his fingers in her hair, Scully might have thought Mulder had  
fallen asleep. He finally spoke, his voice the carefully controlled  
monotone used to mask deep emotion. 

"After Sam's abduction, I think my parents wished I would just  
disappear. Maybe because they blamed me for allowing it to  
happen, maybe because seeing my face was too painful a reminder  
of what they'd lost -- hell, maybe because I drove them crazy by  
trying too hard to make up for what I perceived as my own  
failure." Mulder's chest lurched in a humorless laugh. "Whatever  
the reason, I think my father's favorite phrase became, 'Get the hell  
out of my face, Fox.'" 

Scully squeezed her eyes shut to stem the flood of tears and  
pressed her lips tightly together. Though she longed to blurt out  
words of comfort, she knew they would only succeed in shutting  
Mulder down. Instead she pulled his hand from her shoulder and  
laced her fingers with his. 

"I guess I was pretty vulnerable emotionally when I met Phoebe,  
and she didn't hesitate to take advantage. All I knew was that for  
the first time in about as long as I could remember, somebody paid  
attention when I walked into the room. I fell hard, and when she  
suggested that we move in together, I couldn't believe my luck.  
Unfortunately for me, Phoebe possessed a remarkably short  
attention span when it came to the men in her life. Six months later  
I was left holding a lease I couldn't afford and Phoebe had  
assuaged her boredom with Ian Thorne, her political science  
professor." 

Mulder sighed, gazing bemusedly at Scully's thumb as it traced  
hieroglyphics on the back of his hand. "Diana.." 

He broke off abruptly when Scully's soft body turned rigid in his  
arms. Cursing her involuntary reaction to the name, Scully forced  
herself to relax. 

"Go on," she urged, her voice as warm and comforting as a child's  
blanket. 

"When I met Diana, I was still in pieces from my stint in VICAP. I  
hadn't tumbled into the abyss, but by the time I quit, my toes were  
hanging so far over the edge I could barely retain my balance.  
Diana was the first person besides Reggie Perdue that didn't look at  
me as though I might start foaming at the mouth while spouting  
divine oracles. She was by my side when I opened the X-Files and  
she believed in the work." 

*And in you* Scully thought to herself. 

"It wasn't the wild ride I'd experienced with Phoebe, but in many  
ways it was better," Mulder continued. "Diana provided  
a...stability to my life that I desperately needed. I don't think either  
of us would have classified what we felt as love, but I never  
expected her to leave the way she did. One day we were sharing an  
office and a bed, the next she'd joined Anti-Terrorism and was  
packing her bags for Europe." 

"Did she tell you why?" Scully asked, curbing with difficulty the  
boiling fury his words inspired. 

Mulder shrugged, his face displaying only self-deprecation. "She  
said she couldn't continue as things were, that she needed a  
change." He snorted derisively. "It was her kind way of telling me  
she was tired of my shit." 

"Mulder..." 

"Are you sensing a pattern here, Scully? Do I really need to draw  
you a picture?" he interrupted sharply. "I have failed miserably at  
every significant relationship in my life. I don't want to screw this  
up!" 

Scully regarded him solemnly, reaching her free hand up to brush a  
lock of hair from eyes slate gray with misery. "You won't." 

Mulder's eyes, which had slipped shut at her touch, popped open in  
a fierce glare. "I appreciate the vote of confidence, Scully. But you  
don't *know* that." 

Though her heart still ached from his revelation, Scully mustered a  
genuine smile. The full effect was only slightly marred by the  
quivering of her lower lip. "But I do. Mulder, you've been a major  
force in my life for six years. We've worked, played, laughed,  
cried, lost family members, gained family members, and faced  
death on more occasions than I care to admit. I've seen your shit,  
Mulder." Her smile widened to a grin. "And perhaps more  
importantly, you've seen mine. I'm not going anywhere, love. I'm  
right where I want to be." 

In one swift motion Mulder rolled her beneath his body, covering  
her lips in a passionate kiss. Chuckling, then moaning, Scully  
slipped her arms around his neck and her fingers into his hair.  
Mulder kissed her slowly and thoroughly, working his way along  
her jaw to the spot behind her ear that drove her crazy and then up  
to press his lips tenderly to her forehead before leaning his own  
against it. 

"I love you so much, Scully," he whispered, his voice drenched  
with the wonder of a man witnessing a miracle. "I've never felt this  
way about anyone. This is it for me, all I've ever wanted. Please  
don't let me ruin it." 

Scully swallowed the lump in her throat, pulling him into another  
kiss before tucking his head under her chin. "Not an option,  
Mulder," she husked, still running her fingers through his hair. "I  
can be pretty stubborn once I've made up my mind." 

He chuffed silent laughter that melded into a yawn. "Yeah. I've  
noticed, babe -- ow!" 

Scully smirked, releasing the hunk of hair she'd just pulled and  
resuming her gentle stroking. Mulder's fingers slipped under her  
pajama top to reciprocate on the soft skin of her stomach. 

"A place of our own could be nice," he mumbled. 

It was the closest thing to a concession she was going to get  
tonight. Scully pressed a kiss to the crown of his head but said  
nothing. Eventually his fingers faltered and his body grew heavier  
against hers as he slipped into slumber. Scully closed her eyes and  
willingly followed.  
  


Alexandria  
Saturday  
8:30 a.m.  
  


Grey listened to sharp, hacking coughs coupled with the hiss of the  
shower for several minutes before setting down the newspaper and  
moving into the kitchen. By the time he'd fixed a cup of coffee,  
Fox had emerged from the bathroom dressed in faded jeans and a  
heather gray tee shirt. As he handed over the mug, Grey noted  
uneasily that the color of the shirt only accentuated the pallor of his  
brother's skin. 

"Thanks. Where's Scully?" Fox asked, sinking onto the couch and  
filching the comics from the pile. 

"She had to run by her apartment for something. Said she'd be back  
in a few with some bagels." Grey chewed his lip a moment, then  
forged ahead when Mulder unsuccessfully attempted to smother a  
cough. "That doesn't sound good, Fox." 

Fox didn't look up from the Peanuts cartoon he was perusing. "It's  
just bad first thing in the morning. It'll slack off." 

"A month is a long time to be under the weather, little brother.  
Why don't you just go see a doctor and get checked out?" 

Fox looked up through narrowed eyes to study his face, then  
groaned. "No. Please. Not you too! Scully's been after you, hasn't  
she? She's turned you to the dark side." 

"That's not funny, Fox, she's worried about you," Grey  
admonished, but his lips twitched in amusement. 

"I know she is, but it isn't necessary. I had a bad cold and it's  
taking me a long time to kick it. Period. It's just a little cough,  
Scully is over-reacting." 

"Fox, you passed out on the bed at seven o'clock last night and we  
had to wake you up so you could eat! And in spite of that you were  
still out cold when Dana left this morning! You have to admit  
that's not exactly your style." 

"So I'm a little run down! I seem to remember you getting on my  
back because I didn't sleep enough, now I sleep too much!" Fox  
slapped the mug down on the coffee table and leaned back with his  
arms folded defensively across his chest. 

Grey curbed his own frustration and tried a different tack. "I don't  
get why this is such a big deal. Dana's worried. Is it too much to  
ask you to see a doctor just to ease her mind?" he asked  
reasonably. 

His brother heaved a longsuffering sigh and leaned forward,  
elbows propped on his knees and face buried in his hands. After a  
moment he looked up, and Grey was relieved to see the petulant  
expression missing. 

"No, it isn't too much. I just don't want to make something out of  
nothing," Fox replied. He took a deep breath, then blew it out.  
"Look, I'm just not used to dealing with other people's opinions  
when it comes to running my life. Mom and Dad checked out of  
the decision-making process right after Samantha's abduction and  
I've been on my own ever since. 

Grey nodded slowly, reflecting on his words. "Fox, how did you  
feel when Dana was sick? Didn't you want to be involved in her  
decisions?" 

He'd obviously poked an old wound. His brother's fingers curled  
into fists and he scowled. "But I wasn't. Scully refused to admit  
when she was tired or hurting. All she would tell me was that she  
was *fine*." 

More than one previously fuzzy conversation snapped into sharp  
focus but Grey concentrated on his current epiphany. "So ... what?  
You're going to give her a taste of her own medicine now? Is that  
it?" 

"No!" Fox protested, but Grey could see that he was shaken by the  
thought. "No, I love her, I would never deliberately..." 

"Maybe it's not deliberate, Fox, maybe you're not even aware  
you're doing it. But it would be understandable. It's not easy to  
hand the keys over to someone else -- believe me, I know! But  
sometimes it's part of loving them." 

Fox's gaze was searching. "Kate?" 

Grey licked his lips. "Yeah. In my case it was the reverse of what  
you're facing. It's all relative, all give and take. You've got to  
weigh the price for you against the benefit to the one you love. I  
finally realized that respecting Kate's wishes was the right thing to  
do. It cost me so little compared to what she gained." 

Fox closed his eyes, his steepled fingers tapping nervously across  
his lips. Grey knew he was thinking of Dana and the many times  
she'd supported him despite her own doubts. After a moment he  
opened them and cocked an eyebrow. 

"You should've been a lawyer," he growled. "You certainly know  
how to build a case." 

Gotcha! Grey crowed internally, but he merely stretched and  
regarded his brother gravely. "Nah. I don't like people interrupting  
me when I'm on a roll." 

"Very funny. I guess I could make an appointment to get checked  
out next week," Fox grumbled. "Happy now?" 

Grey favored him with a Cheshire cat grin. "Doesn't matter how  
*I* feel, little brother. What matters is that *Dana* will be happy."  
He waggled his eyebrows. 

Fox rolled his eyes and returned to the comics, ignoring Grey's  
jibe, but a slight curve at the corners of his mouth gave him away.  
  


Alexandria  
Saturday  
6:20 p.m.  
  


"Fox, have you seen my keys?" 

Mulder, seated at the computer reading his email and chuckling  
quietly to himself, looked up just in time to catch the flash of a  
blue oxford shirt as his brother disappeared into the kitchen.  
Before he could open his mouth to reply Grey was back, fingers  
absently fastening the buttons at his collar while his eyes roamed  
the living room. 

"Thought you left them in your jacket pocket," he remarked, lips  
curved in amusement as Grey darted to the wooden coatrack and  
began patting down the pockets of his tan jacket. With a small  
grunt of satisfaction he pulled out a keyring and, after a moment's  
hesitation, gripped it between his teeth and began using his freed  
hands to tuck the shirt into his pants while ducking into the  
bathroom. 

"What's with him?" Scully asked, tossing the medical journal she'd  
been reading onto the coffee table. 

"Hot date," Mulder smirked. When Scully narrowed her eyes he  
added, "He's running late. Kristen is expecting him in twenty-five  
minutes and he's never going to make it." 

"You shouldn't have kept him out so long, Mulder," Scully said  
reprovingly. "What were you two doing all afternoon?" 

Mulder shrugged, eyes darting between Scully and the computer.  
"Went to the gym, got sucked into a pick-up game." His eyes  
moved rapidly across the screen and he snickered again. 

"Mulder, *what* is so funny? You've been awfully entertained by  
that email." 

"It's from the Gunmen. Frohike sent me an article that claims talk  
shows are actually the encoded broadcasts of alien infiltrators." 

Scully pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Well, Jerry Springer always  
has given me the impression he doesn't belong on this planet," she  
mused. 

Mulder grinned, delighted by her response. "You watch Jerry  
Springer, Scully?" 

Grey's reappearance aborted her answer. With his shirt now neatly  
tucked into a pair of khaki pants and loafers on his feet, only his tie  
still hung askew, looped through his collar but unknotted. "I'm  
outta here," he announced, snatching his jacket from its hook. 

"You're going to freeze in that thing, you know," Mulder observed  
calmly, turning in his chair. "It's going to get into the thirties  
tonight." 

Grey shrugged. "Can't be helped. I always forget it can be colder  
up here. I'll be fine." 

Mulder sighed in resignation. "Take my leather jacket, it's right  
there. Scully and I aren't planning to go out anyway." 

Grey hesitated. "You sure?" 

"You're already taking my car, why not the clothes off my back?" 

"Well, when you put it *that* way..." 

Grey replaced his own jacket and snagged his brother's, spinning to  
head for the door. 

"Wait!" Scully called. 

When he turned back, raising a questioning eyebrow she got up  
from her seat on the couch and moved quickly over to stand in  
front of him. Taking hold of the tastefully understated tie (*didn't  
borrow this from Mulder* she reflected with a small smile) she  
deftly knotted it, smoothing the ends. After appraising him for a  
moment with a critical eye, Scully nodded in satisfaction. 

"Very nice." 

When she raised her eyes to his, the depth of his emotion surprised  
her. "It's been a long time since a pretty lady did that for me," he  
said quietly, leaning over to give her a peck on the cheek. "Thanks,  
Dana." 

"My pleasure," Scully replied warmly. "Have a good time." 

"But not *too* good," Mulder chimed in, waggling his eyebrows.  
"We expect you to conduct yourself as a perfect gentleman at all  
times, son." 

"I'm from the South, little brother," Grey retorted, opening the  
door. "We invented the concept." 

Once the door closed Scully walked over to Mulder, already  
immersed in his email. She regarded him silently for a moment,  
then swung her leg over his and settled herself into his lap, facing  
him with her arms draped loosely around his neck and effectively  
blocking the screen. 

Mulder blinked, a wide smile spreading slowly across his face.  
"Hey, Scully." 

"Grey is taking Kristen to that nice little Italian place and then to a  
concert, Mulder," Scully said, schooling her expression to hide her  
smile. "What are we doing tonight?" 

Mulder bit the inside of his lip. "Pizza and a video?" 

She heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Six months, Mulder. It's barely  
been six months and the only plans you have for us on a Saturday  
night are carryout pizza and renting a video?" 

His smile turned decidedly lecherous. "'Course not, babe. I'm full  
of plans for us." 

Scully rolled her eyes. "I walked right into that one, didn't I?" 

Mulder just leaned his forehead against hers. "Some fettuccini  
Alfredo from Maggiano's? Maybe a bottle of wine, candles, and  
soft music?" 

Scully turned her head to nuzzle his cheek. "Good plan, Mulder.  
Very good plan."  
  


En route to Bethesda  
Saturday  
6:45 p.m.  
  


When the engine began to hiccup, Grey groaned aloud. If  
everything had proceeded according to plan, he'd be pulling up  
outside Kristen's townhouse right now, watching her open the door  
to reveal the smile that always made his heart speed up with  
conflicting emotions. Funny how even after all this time it was  
hard to shake the feeling he was cheating on Kate. Especially  
considering his certainty that Kate would have wanted this for him,  
encouraged him to find happiness with someone else. 

He'd never tell his brother, of course, but sometimes being around  
Fox and Dana provoked a near-physical pain. It hit him at odd  
times, the little things that more clearly than words testified to the  
devotion between them. The way his thumb lingered on her cheek  
when he tucked a strand of copper hair behind her ear. The  
blinding smile she never bestowed on anyone else. The joining of  
their eyes that managed to convey an almost embarrassing depth of  
intimacy without a single touch. Grey rejoiced at his brother's  
happiness even as he ached with the reminder of all he'd lost. In  
this, as in many ways, making Fox a part of his life was a  
bittersweet proposition. 

The car, sounding more and more like an asthmatic in the throes of  
an attack, gave a final, violent jolt and died. Cursing under his  
breath, Grey managed to coax the vehicle over to the side of the  
road before it glided to a standstill. Wishing he'd listened more  
closely all the times he'd watched his dad work on the car, Grey  
heaved the sigh of a martyr and pulled the lever to pop the hood. 

"This has got to be your fault, Fox," he muttered, shivering at the  
contrast between the warm car and the chill wind. "I'm not sure  
how, but it stands to reason." 

Traffic whizzed merrily past as Grey trudged to the front of the car  
and raised the hood. Naturally, he'd come to a halt about halfway  
between streetlights so that the engine was little more than a  
confusing mass of shadows in the near darkness. The wind kicked  
up a little and Grey flipped up the collar of the leather jacket,  
breathing on his cupped hands for a few moments before  
continuing his fruitless poking of the engine. 

He'd just decided to throw in the towel and walk to the nearest  
phone when a bright blaze of headlights spilled around the edges  
of the raised hood and he heard the distinct crunch of tires on  
gravel. Raising one hand in an attempt to shade his eyes from the  
glare, Grey peered into the headlights that were quickly  
extinguished a moment later. As his eyes struggled to adjust yet  
again to the altered lighting, Grey could just make out a single  
shadowy figure approaching at a leisurely pace. 

"Trouble?" The voice was soft, muffled by the intermittent drone  
of traffic. 

"Yeah." 

Grey bent back over the engine, watching the stranger carefully  
from the corner of his eye. The calm voice and relaxed manner  
gave no indication of threat, but it never hurt to be cautious. He  
thought longingly of the gun tucked into his duffel bag back at  
Fox's apartment, then told himself he was catching his brother's  
paranoia. 

"Can I take a look?" 

The stranger stopped when he drew abreast of the front tire,  
leaving Grey plenty of space. No more than a silhouette in the  
darkness, but roughly his own height and build, Grey noted. He  
was clad in black jeans and a black leather jacket, hands stuffed  
into the pockets and shoulders hunched against the cold. After only  
a moment's indecision Grey shrugged, stepping back and gesturing  
with a sweep of his hand. 

"Take your best shot." 

The man chuckled quietly and bent over the engine. Grey's tension  
eased at the show of faith. Whoever this Good Samaritan was, he  
trusted enough to turn his back on a stranger. Grey's gaze  
alternated between the man's back and his watch, wondering idly if  
Kristen would have begun to worry. 

"Here's your problem," the man said after a moment, beckoning  
with a tilt of his head. "Take a look." 

Grey stepped up and leaned over, squinting to make out what the  
stranger's finger indicated. "You lost this belt. See?" 

Grey snorted. "In this light? Not really." 

The stranger released a small puff of air that must have been a  
laugh. "Feel right here." 

Grey obligingly reached out, his fingers contacting the frayed ends  
of something. Before his brain could register the sensation,  
however, something sharp bit into the skin of his wrist. 

"OW! What the hell was that?" he cried, pulling his arm out as if it  
were on fire and tilting it to catch the light. A small drop of blood  
oozed over the pulse point. 

"You all..." The stranger had also straightened up, revealing green  
eyes and a slight smile. His words cut off abruptly and his eyes  
widened in shock, then narrowed in anger. "What the... You're not  
Mulder!" 

Grey opened his mouth to retort but a sudden wave of dizziness  
blurred the man's face to little more than a pale oval in the  
darkness. He staggered, grabbing onto the car with one hand  
and shaking his head in an attempt to clear it. 

"Whaddare you talkin' about?" he demanded, the words slurring on  
his suddenly thick tongue. "'M not Fox, 'm his brother." 

Forcing the words out only exacerbated his disorientation, and  
Grey's limbs began to feel leaden and disconnected from his body.  
Despite his iron grip on the car his knees buckled. Spitting out  
words in a foreign language that could only be curses, the man  
caught Grey by his jacket and hauled him upright. Unfortunately,  
supporting Grey's nearly dead weight proved to be a challenge. The  
stranger stumbled, flinging his right hand out to steady himself and  
tearing his black leather glove on something sharp in the process.  
He propped Grey against the car and scrutinizing his features. 

Grey struggled to keep his eyes open, the small corner of his brain  
not fogged with whatever drug he'd been given shrieking that he  
was in deep trouble. The man uttered a few more epithets in what  
sounded like Russian, then his lips twisted into a sardonic grin and  
he laughed. 

"Damn it, Mulder! You wind up causing me trouble without even  
trying!" 

"Who. Are. You." Sheer force of will kept him conscious - the  
words sticking in his mouth like peanut butter. 

The answering curve of the stranger's lips could hardly be called a  
smile. "I used to be your brother's partner," he said flatly, the  
words coming to Grey as if from the end of a dark tunnel. "You  
can call me Alex." 

Grey's eyes slipped shut and he slid into the darkness.  
  


Location unknown  
Saturday  
8:17 p.m.  
  


"Have a seat, Alex." 

Krycek shut the door and crossed to stand before the man seated  
in a plush armchair. "I'd rather stand," he replied insolently, the  
slouch in his body clearly conveying his disrespect. 

The speaker merely regarded him calmly with steel gray eyes,  
removing the cigarette from his lips and expelling a long puff of  
smoke. "Sit down." 

Though the decibel level didn't change, the implied threat was  
obvious. Gritting his teeth, Krycek sat stiffly in the proffered  
chair. 

"Would you care to explain to me why I sent you to fetch one  
Mulder and you came back with another?" the smoker asked  
conversationally. 

"I thought it *was* Mulder," Krycek growled. "I didn't realize it  
was his brother until I'd already drugged him, and by then it was  
too late." 

Another long pull on the cigarette and a leisurely exhale. "So you  
decided to add insult to injury and bring him here." 

Krycek lunged forward, the hand that was still able clenched into  
a fist. "Look, what do you want me to say? He came out of  
*Mulder's* apartment, got into *Mulder's* car - hell, he was even  
wearing *Mulder's* jacket! In the darkness he's a dead ringer for  
him. I had two choices - either dump him in the car and risk  
Mulder catching on to what happened or bring him here. You've  
had McKenzie under surveillance for nearly two months. Are you  
really going to tell me you didn't intend to test him sooner or  
later?" 

"According to *my* timetable, Krycek, not as a result of your  
bungled attempt to complete the required task," CSM replied  
coolly, his voice silk over steel. "The problem with Mulder  
remains unresolved, and time is of the essence. His brother could  
have waited." 

Krycek bared his teeth in the parody of a smile. "Maybe you can  
trade up." 

The smoker ignored his jibe. "How certain are you that no one saw  
you?" 

Krycek shrugged. "It *was* the side of a highway. But traffic was  
light and he did me the favor of not stopping under a streetlight. He  
was too surprised to put up a fight, and I'm reasonably certain no  
one saw me put him in the car." 

"You'll pardon me if I derive little comfort from your assurances,"  
CSM remarked dryly. He leaned over and stubbed out the butt of  
his cigarette in a crystal ashtray. "See that he's settled in the blue  
room." 

Krycek felt the cold gaze follow him to the doorway, heard the  
snick of a lighter as the old man lit another Morely. His hand  
twitched with the desire to reach for the gun in the waistband of his  
jeans and end this charade of cooperation. With effort, he cooled  
his temper and common sense won out. Now was not the time, but  
eventually that day would come.  
  


Alexandria  
Saturday  
7:30 p.m.  
  


Scully followed the fragrance of garlic and oregano and the  
muffled sound of coughing into the kitchen. Mulder, just returned  
from picking up their dinner, had relegated to her the task of  
choosing some music and sent her into the living room. In the  
meantime, he'd transformed the kitchen table with candles and a  
rose. She stepped through the doorway just in time to catch him  
covering his mouth with the back of his arm in a vain attempt to  
stifle his hacking. 

"I told you I should be the one to get the food. That jacket wasn't  
warm enough and the last thing you need is another cold," Scully  
said disapprovingly. 

"Scully, I'm fine," Mulder snapped, but the words lost their punch  
when he dissolved into another round of coughing. 

"Sure. Fine. Whatever," Scully muttered, nudging him out of the  
way and opening the container of fettuccini. She closed her eyes  
and inhaled blissfully before spooning some onto a plate. 

Mulder tamped down on his own irritation and wrestled with the  
wine bottle, venting his feelings on the stubborn cork. "I'm going  
to the doctor on Tuesday, Scully. You can drop it now, you won." 

The wine bottle's cork blew at approximately the same time as  
Scully's. "What's that supposed to mean -- I've won?" 

The sensible voice in the back of his mind whispered that he was  
being insensitive, but Mulder ignored it. The annoying tickle in his  
chest and the accompanying ache that had begun sometime during  
the ill-fated pick-up game both attested to the validity of Scully's  
worry and sparked his temper. 

"Just what it sounds like! You've been on my back about a simple  
cough for the last two weeks until you finally wore me down. I  
made the damn appointment, the least you could do is give it a  
rest!" 

Stung by the acid in his words, Scully compressed her lips into a  
thin line. Defenses up, she spoke without stopping to consider the  
words. "In my family that's called caring, Mulder. Sorry if that's a  
foreign concept for you." 

The words sandbagged him, and for an instant Scully read the  
shock and hurt clearly in his eyes before he regained control.  
Mulder turned from her and opened a cupboard, emitting a  
sarcastic chuckle. "What are you saying, Scully? You mean you  
don't think the Mulders could have been poster material for a  
loving family?" 

He pulled down glasses and filled each halfway with the wine, his  
face expressionless. Only the slight quiver of the bottle betrayed  
his indifference. Scully closed her eyes and sighed. Her anger had  
ebbed the moment she realized she'd hurt him, leaving only  
resignation and remorse in its wake. Sometimes maintaining a  
relationship with Mulder was like whitewater rafting -- she felt  
swept along with only a modicum of control, treacherous rocks  
cropping up when least expected. 

"Mulder, I didn't mean it to come out like that," she said quietly,  
fixing her gaze on his stiff back. 

Mulder turned and extended a glass, but his manner remained  
guarded. "Sure you did, Scully. And we both know it's true," he  
replied, swirling the liquid in his own glass and studying it. "After  
all..." 

The phone rang, and Mulder set his wine on the counter, brushing  
Scully's arm gently with his fingers as he moved past her to the  
living room. 

"Mulder. Hi, Kristen, what's up?" 

Scully leaned against the counter, idly sipping her drink and  
listening to Mulder's half of the conversation. 

"What? He's not there?" A brief pause. "He left here over an hour  
ago, he should have been to your place by seven." 

Alerted by the edge to his voice, Scully walked into the living  
room. One hand held the phone pressed to Mulder's ear, the other  
restlessly twisted the cord. 

"I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation -- maybe he got held up  
in traffic or stopped off at a store for something." 

Though his tone remained generally calm and reassuring, Mulder's  
body language screamed worry. He chewed the inside of his lower  
lip as he listened to Kristen, fingers now drumming nervously on  
the desktop and his feet shifting back and forth. 

"No. You stay put. Scully and I will trace his path to your house  
and see if we run into him. We'll leave right now." He listened a  
moment, and Scully could faintly hear Kristen's rapid flow of  
speech on the other end of the line. "Try not to worry, I'm sure it's  
nothing. We'll see you soon." 

Mulder replaced the receiver in its cradle with exaggerated care  
and stood staring into space for several seconds before his gaze  
wandered to Scully. It was clear he was deeply disturbed but  
desperately trying not to show it. 

"Grey never picked up Kristen." Scully stated, moving closer but  
not touching him. 

"She's pretty worried. Can't figure out what could be keeping him."  
Mulder ran his hand absently through his hair. "Neither can I." 

"Put a sweater on and we'll go," Scully said gently. 

Mulder nodded placidly and disappeared into the bedroom without  
arguing, clearly revealing just how troubled he was. Scully sighed  
and donned her own coat, promising herself that sooner or later the  
conflict in the kitchen would be revisited. When he returned clad in  
a navy v-neck sweater with his hand extended, she raised one  
eyebrow. 

"Keys?" he asked impatiently. 

"I'll drive. It is my car, after all, and the seat is already set so that  
my little feet can reach the pedals." 

She wasn't really angry, just a little irritated by his assumption that  
she should be the one to ride shotgun. The remark about her feet  
was meant as a joke, to lighten the mood, but seemed to achieve  
the opposite. Mulder's expression darkened and when he opened  
his mouth Scully braced herself for another battle. To her surprise  
his mouth snapped shut and he shrugged. 

"Suit yourself," he muttered, and reached for the door. 

Scully followed him down the hallway and into the elevator,  
attempting to gauge his mood. Contrary to her initial assessment,  
he didn't seem angry, just distracted. She slipped her arm through  
his and watched him come back to her. 

"You can drive if you'd like, Mulder. I really don't mind." 

Mulder turned eyes to hers that were soft with gratitude. "I just... I  
need to be *doing* something right now, Scully. If I have to just  
sit I think I might lose it." 

The elevator doors opened and she barely had time to press the  
keys into his palm before he was off again, his long legs eating up  
the ground at twice the rate of her own. Once behind the wheel he  
slid the key into the ignition, but paused. Scully read the odd look  
on his face and interpreted it correctly. 

"Mulder, it's probably nothing." 

Mulder took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, then started the  
engine. Once on the road he hunched forward over the wheel,  
scanning the horizon with sharp eyes. Scully turned her own gaze  
to the shoulder, silently praying that she'd see Mulder's car pulled  
safely to the side of the road, perhaps with a flat tire. A line from a  
children's movie she'd once watched with her godson popped into  
her head and she chanted it over and over in her mind like a  
mantra. 

*Let no bad happen*. 

Halfway between Mulder's apartment and Bethesda, where Kristen  
lived, her eye caught a glint of metal off to the right. 

"Mulder, stop," she ordered quickly. 

Mulder reacted in knee-jerk fashion, swerving suddenly onto the  
shoulder and slamming on his brakes. A black Camaro, dissatisfied  
with his slower pace and riding his tail, roared past with the blast  
of a horn and the driver's upraised middle finger. Oblivious,  
Mulder pinned Scully with his eyes. 

"What is it? Did you see something?" 

Scully opened the glove compartment and pulled out a flashlight.  
"Something. I'm just not sure what." 

She got out of the car and began walking back along the side of the  
road, training the beam of light down into the ditch where the  
shoulder fell away into an empty field. Mulder trailed in her wake,  
exuding nervous energy but holding his tongue. After walking  
back around three hundred yards to a spot halfway between  
streetlights, Scully's light caught something in the weeds and  
bounced back at them. Ten steps closer and her heart began to  
thump wildly in her chest. 

A car lay amidst the tall grass, tilted against the embankment so  
that it nearly rested on its right side. Even in the poor lighting she  
could see it was black, see the dent on the left fender where Mulder  
had hit a guardrail during a high-speed chase. Mulder's car. 

Before she could vocalize the realization Mulder was scrambling  
down the incline, his gun drawn. Scully switched the flashlight to  
her left hand, keeping it centered on the car, and pulled her own  
weapon. Mulder reached the driver's door, slipping a little on the  
slope, and cupped his hands to the glass so that he could peer  
inside. Scully came up behind his shoulder and moved the light  
around the interior. 

The empty interior. 

Mulder's hands dropped to his sides and he turned to face Scully.  
"He's not inside." 

The simple statement held a mixture of bewilderment, worry, and  
relief. Scully pursed her lips as she considered the car, then  
clambered back up the hill to the road. She could feel Mulder on  
her heels, watching her movements as she swept the flashlight  
across the pavement. After several moments she'd seen enough,  
and snapped the light off to conserve batteries. 

"So?" Voice steady but apprehensive. 

Scully walked slowly over to gaze up into his face. "I don't see any  
skid marks, Mulder. Nothing to indicate that he lost control of the  
car." 

Mulder was chewing his lip again, viciously enough that Scully  
had to bite back a plea for him to stop. "The position of the car is  
all wrong, too," he observed. "If it had left the road with any  
momentum it would be on its side, or even rolled over. As it is, it  
looks like..." 

"Like somebody pushed it down there," Scully finished softly, her  
concern for Grey warring with that for Mulder. "We need to get a  
team out here, Mulder. And you need to call Kristen." 

Mulder closed his eyes. Scully watched his Adam's apple bob  
convulsively, the fingers on both hands flexing and then relaxing  
several times. When his rapid breathing slowed to a more normal  
pace, he opened his eyes and reached for the cell phone he'd tucked  
into the pocket of his brother's jacket. He punched in the number  
with steady precision and his voice remained smooth and even. 

"Kristen? It's Mulder. I've got some bad news..." 

Scully turned and moved several steps in the opposite direction,  
pulling her own phone out and pressing number three on the speed  
dial. Glancing at her watch she couldn't help fearing that the  
likelihood of finding the man home at eight-thirty on a Saturday  
evening was low. 

*Come on, pick up the phone. Please be there...* 

"Hello?" 

A little surprised by the almost giddy sense of relief, Scully  
abruptly realized she didn't know quite where to begin. Grasping  
for composure, she was chagrined to find her own voice lacked  
Mulder's level tone. 

"Sir, this is Scully. I'm sorry to bother you on a Saturday night, but  
I need your help." 

A deep sigh from the other end of the line, and when Skinner  
spoke his voice dripped weary resignation. "What did he do now,  
Scully?" 

The grin broke out reflexively, quickly succeeded by a sharp pain  
in her chest. If only that was the problem -- Mulder haring out and  
taking off on one of his wild goose chases. Her eyes darted to  
where he stood, shoulders slumped and eyes shaded by the hand  
not gripping the phone. 

"Scully? You there?" 

"Yes. I'm sorry, sir," she said quickly, shaking off her paralysis.  
"It isn't Mulder that's in trouble. It's Grey." 

"*Grey*?" Skinner repeated. 

"He's missing, sir. He left Mulder's apartment two hours ago to  
pick up Agent Harding for a date but never arrived. Mulder and I  
found his car in a ditch, empty. I'm fairly certain someone pushed  
it there." 

"Give me your location, I'll have a team out immediately." 

Scully surrendered to the mechanics, giving Skinner the  
information required, setting the machine in motion. She closed the  
phone, her eyes seeking out her partner before she'd replaced it in  
her pocket. He stood at the top of the embankment, staring blankly  
at the deserted car. When she drew closer, Scully saw that he was  
shivering slightly. 

"Mulder, it's freezing out here. Let's wait in my car," she suggested  
quietly, slipping her cold hand into his equally frigid one. 

"He wouldn't listen to me," Mulder murmured as if he hadn't heard  
\-- which was probably the case. "I tried to warn him, to tell him  
that sooner or later that cigarette-smoking bastard would figure  
things out. But he wouldn't listen." 

"You're his brother and he loves you," Scully replied, stroking her  
thumb over his. 

Mulder laughed -- a ragged, wild sound. "Yeah, and where has it  
gotten him? The same place as everyone else that's ever made that  
mistake." 

Scully flinched. "Mulder..." 

"NO, Scully! Don't try to sugar coat what you know is the truth. I  
brought this on Grey through my own selfishness. If I'd just left  
well enough alone, stayed out of his life, he wouldn't be in this  
mess right now, going through God knows what! I should've let  
my head guide my actions, not my heart. And if you have any  
common sense remaining you'll learn something from this and do  
the same." 

Scully's mouth dropped open and she gaped at his retreating back  
as he spun on his heel and stalked toward the flashing red and blue  
lights that appeared on the horizon.  
  


Unknown Location  
Saturday  
10:34 p.m.  
  


The fear existed inside of him like a living creature, feeding on the  
passing minutes spent in solitude, growing until he could contain it  
only by sheer force of will. Grey's eyes roamed the room  
ceaselessly, searching impotently for something to provide a  
distraction, to focus on. Unfortunately, his surroundings were  
painfully sterile and lacking in inspiration. 

A square 10 X 10 foot room, walls institutional white and lacking  
any windows, empty except for a toilet, sink, and the bed to which  
he was strapped. Yes, strapped securely with five point restraints  
so that he couldn't even scratch the itch over his left eye that  
tormented him. 

The physical discomfort, however, paled in comparison to the  
mental anguish. When he wasn't obsessively recalling each and  
every horror story Fox and Dana had recounted about their own  
abductions, he agonized over his brother's reaction to his  
disappearance. More than twenty-five years since Samantha  
vanished, and Fox still woke screaming in the night, still drove  
himself relentlessly to find her. Grey feared another such loss  
would blur the fragile line of stability that Fox walked, tipping him  
into a breakdown. None of this was Fox's fault, but undoubtedly  
the man would assume the blame. 

Grey grimaced, rubbing his face against the pillow to assuage the  
itch. If his current predicament was anyone's fault, it was his own.  
Fox had repeatedly tried to warn him about the faceless enemy that  
lurked in the shadows, and he'd arrogantly disregarded those  
warnings. Truth be told, he'd dismissed much of it as his brother's  
overactive paranoia, confident he could take care of himself. Big  
mistake. 

The doorknob rattled, commanding his full attention. A moment  
later his kidnapper entered and shut the door firmly. He'd shed his  
leather jacket, and the black tee shirt he wore clearly revealed his  
muscular right arm and the prosthesis that substituted for his left.  
Grey's eyes narrowed as made the connection.  
  


"You're the double-crossing rat bastard Fox has told me so much  
about," he said coolly. "Alex Krycek -- am I right?" 

Krycek grinned wolfishly and pressed one hand to his chest. "It  
warms my heart to know that Mulder talks about me," he replied,  
stepping across the room to lean against the wall near the foot of  
Grey's bed. 

"Believe me, he becomes very...vocal when your name comes up,"  
Grey said wryly. He scowled at Krycek. "So where am I, and why  
am I here? I'm not part of this equation, what do you want with  
me?" 

Krycek snorted. "If you have Bill and Teena Mulder as parents,  
then you're part of the equation. But to answer your question, I  
didn't want *you* at all. Your presence here is purely accidental." 

Grey recalled Krycek's diatribe back at the car, and his eyes  
widened. "The car, the jacket -- you thought I was Fox! You were  
after him, not me." 

Krycek grit his teeth. "In the dark, you could be twins. I didn't  
realize you were in town, so I never expected anyone but Mulder." 

"You *sabotaged* that belt, didn't you?" Grey growled. "It wasn't  
just luck that you came along when you did." 

"I don't believe in luck -- I make my own," Krycek said with a lift  
of his chin. "Mulder's Saturday nights have become amazingly  
predictable since he came to his senses and started screwing his  
partner. He always heads over to Scully's place at about the same  
time. Just my luck that you had to come into town and upset the  
routine." 

"My deepest apologies," Grey replied sarcastically. "Why don't  
you just chalk up this whole evening as a waste of time and let me  
be on my way?" 

"Nice try. But just because you weren't the objective tonight  
doesn't mean you weren't on the agenda." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Grey hoped he sounded  
belligerent, feared he sounded intimidated. 

Krycek raised an eyebrow. "Oh come on! You can't really be that  
na�e! Mulder must have told you about the Project, about your  
father's involvement in it." 

Grey glanced away from the piercing green eyes. "Fox has told me  
a lot of things. I don't necessarily believe all of them, in spite of the  
fact that I can see *he* does." 

"Then you're mistaken," Krycek replied. He straightened and  
paced across the room and back again. "Fox Mulder may be many  
things, but a fool isn't one of them. The threat he's fighting against  
is very real, and like it or not, his role in this little drama was cast  
long before his birth. Yours has yet to be determined." 

"I had nothing to do with Bill Mulder or this 'Project' you speak  
of," Grey snapped, tugging at the straps that fettered his wrists. 

Krycek cradled his head in his hands, shaking it slowly. "You  
really don't get it, do you? Why do you think your parents hid all  
evidence that you existed? You're bound to the Project by virtue of  
Bill Mulder's blood in your veins! How inextricably, remains to be  
seen." 

Grey stared at him, his mind working furiously. "You mean  
Fox...?" 

"Fox and Samantha were the first fruits of a plan, and the inception  
of that plan occurred years before you were born -- before Bill  
Mulder even came to work for the State Department. Humans  
genetically altered to instill a natural resistance to the alien virus.  
An experiment that, until recently, appeared to be successful." 

Grey could feel the blood drain from his face. "Does Fox know  
this?" 

Krycek shook his head sharply. "No, and he won't find out. After  
we're finished determining just how successful Bill Mulder was at  
shielding you from the experiment, we'll wipe your memory." The  
wolf grin again. "You'll never even know you were gone." 

Grey clenched his jaw, his mind skittering away from *that*  
picture. Krycek had said something important, something that  
niggled at the back of his mind. He scanned his memory until it  
abruptly clicked into place. 

"You said that the experiment on Fox seemed successful until  
recently. What did you mean by that?" 

Krycek's face closed off at the same moment that the door opened  
to emit a linebacker in the white dress of a hospital orderly. Grey's  
heart skipped a beat when his eyes landed on the syringe in the  
man's meaty hand. 

"Krycek, wait! We're not done with this conversation yet! You  
owe me an answer, don't..." 

Like shooting fish in a barrel, Grey could offer no resistance as his  
arm was subjected first to the cool swab of alcohol and then the  
sting of the needle. This time the drug didn't pull him under, just  
turned his muscles to gelatin and left him unable to remember why  
he was supposed to be upset. Krycek's face undulated gently in  
and out of focus, and when the linebacker loosened the restraints it  
never occurred to Grey to struggle. 

As Krycek began speaking, Grey watched with fascination his  
tongue dance between lips and teeth, though he'd lost the ability to  
process words. 

"When you start giving me orders like that, you even *sound* just  
like him," Krycek chuckled, watching as Grey was bundled onto  
a gurney. "Been nice meeting you -- not that you'll remember." 

Stepping aside he looked on impassively as the orderly wheeled  
Grey out of the room.  
  


Roadside  
Sunday  
12:01 a.m.  
  


Scully leaned wearily against the side of her car, watching Mulder  
comb the embankment again. She was so focused on her partner,  
when a large hand descended on her shoulder she barely bit back a  
startled scream. Skinner's fingers tightened briefly then released,  
and he mirrored her position. 

"There's really nothing more we can do here tonight, Scully," he  
said, his own eyes following Mulder's relentless searching. "We'll  
come back when it's light, and in the meantime forensics can go  
over the car for trace evidence." 

Scully nodded. The police had left the scene nearly a half-hour  
earlier, the car towed to the bureau shortly afterward. She was cold  
to the bone after spending over three hours in the chill wind, and a  
hot bath and flannel pajamas figured prominently in her fantasies.  
But the lone figure stalking restlessly back and forth amid the  
weeds had other ideas. 

As if reading her mind, Skinner added, "You need to get him out of  
here. He passed the point of usefulness over an hour ago, and I  
think pure adrenaline is the only thing keeping him on his feet." 

Unreasonable anger, fueled by her own helpless frustration, flared  
at Skinner's words. "You think I don't realize that? If you've got  
any suggestions on how to make it happen, I'm all ears!" 

Skinner didn't take offense. "I'm the idea man," he replied dryly. "I  
was hoping to leave the execution to you." 

The laugh that bubbled up turned into a sob somewhere in her  
throat. Horrified, Scully clamped down hard on her lip with both  
teeth and forced herself to breathe slowly. Respecting her struggle  
for composure, Skinner didn't put his arm around her, but he  
leaned into her side a little, his warmth and bulk comforting. 

"Whatever happens, Scully, we'll get him through this." 

Scully blinked rapidly. "I want to believe that, sir. Because I don't  
think Mulder could survive losing another sibling to his father's  
cause." 

Skinner touched the back of her hand, startled by the lack of  
warmth. "Start up the car and get the heater running, Scully, you're  
freezing. I'll take care of him." 

More than a little ashamed by her relief at his words, Scully merely  
nodded and forced herself to motion. Skinner walked slowly over  
to where his other agent, features set in granite, swept a flashlight  
back and forth over the uneven terrain. He stopped at the edge, just  
before the shoulder of the road fell away to the field, and waited.  
When several minutes passed without Mulder breaking his stride  
or acknowledging his presence, he cleared his throat. 

"Mulder." 

"There has to be something here, something we're not seeing,"  
Mulder muttered without raising his head or pausing. 

"Mulder, this is a crime scene, and I'm officially ordering you off,"  
Skinner said, injecting a little more steel into his tone. 

It produced the desired reaction. Mulder's froze, his head whipping  
up so that his eyes could lock onto his boss. The insolent protest  
that commenced actually warmed Skinner's heart -- a big  
improvement to the shell-shocked aura Mulder had been exuding  
all evening. 

"You can't do that! I'm conducting an investigation and..." 

"Mulder, the only thing you're conducting at this point is a lesson  
in futility." Skinner shrugged off the irritation that Mulder's  
insubordination always engendered and softened his words.  
"You've been at this non-stop for going on four hours. You're cold,  
you're tired, and it's too dark to see a damn thing. Add to that the  
fact that your partner is about ready to drop, and I'd say it's time  
you called it a night." 

Mulder climbed up the slope to join Skinner but a protruding lower  
lip and furrowed brow testified to his reluctance. 

"You could give Scully a lift. I can drive her car home when I'm  
finished," he persisted. 

"I could, but I won't," Skinner said sternly. "You *are* finished,  
Mulder. Get some rest and resume your investigation when you  
can actually see something." 

Skinner turned and took several steps toward the parked cars  
before he noticed the absence of footfalls behind him. His temper  
sparked anew, and he spun around sharply, a reprimand on his  
tongue. The wounded child camouflaged in Mulder's clothes made  
the words catch in his throat. 

"I'm not a child left catatonic on the floor this time," Mulder said  
softly, belying Skinner's vision. "I won't sit back and just let this  
happen. I have to fight." 

Despite the attempt at bravado, Skinner experienced a painful  
flashback to another day when he'd confronted a broken,  
despondent Mulder packing up his belongings in the X-Files  
office. 

*How many times can one man face losing what he holds  
most dear*? 

"No one's asking you to stop fighting, Mulder," he replied gruffly.  
"Just to employ a little tactical sense." 

Whether his words struck a chord or Mulder was just too  
exhausted to continue resisting, this time Skinner was gratified to  
hear an echo to his own footsteps. He walked around to the driver's  
side of the car and Scully lowered her window, bathing his face in  
a puff of warmed air. 

"I'll see you two at the bureau bright and early," he said, watching  
peripherally as Mulder slumped into the passenger seat. "Report  
directly to my office, I'll have the forensics sent there." 

"Thank you, sir." Scully's shadowed eyes communicated clearly  
that her response concerned more than his investigative support. 

Skinner leaned in a little closer so that he could see Mulder's face.  
"Get some sleep, Mulder. We've got the bureau's best resources on  
this and we *will* find him." 

Mulder didn't acknowledge or contest Skinner's statement --  
merely leaned his head against the seatback and stared out the  
window. 

The coughing commenced the moment Scully pulled onto the road  
and lasted the entire drive back to Mulder's apartment. The hacking  
held a deep, booming sound that her physician's ear recognized as  
more than just the dregs of a cold, and when he gasped for breath  
the wheezing was clearly audible. Scully pressed her lips tightly  
together, a dam against the torrent of misgivings that wanted to  
pour forth. 

By the time Mulder slipped the key into his door the spell had  
eased up a bit, but Scully's worry had not. He paused in the kitchen  
doorway for a moment, taking in the congealed plate of fettuccini  
and the abandoned bottle of wine before continuing into the living  
room and slumping onto the couch. Scully discarded the food and  
put on the teakettle before moving on to the bathroom where she  
rummaged around until she'd uncovered a bottle of nighttime cold  
medicine behind a can of shaving cream. 

She clutched the bottle, her thumb picking absently at the peeling  
label as an inner battle raged between Dana Scully, MD and Dana  
Scully, the woman in love with Fox Mulder. The cold remedy  
would supress Mulder's cough with the added benefit of knocking  
him unconscious for a few hours -- probably the only way he'd  
sleep at all. Yet the idea of treating the symptoms and not the cause  
went against every ounce of her medical training. She stood there,  
irresolute, until Mulder broke into another round of hacking. 

Mulder cracked open one eye when Scully moved his feet and sat  
down beside him. 

"Sit up," she said, unscrewing the cap and filling the little plastic  
measuring cup with the red liquid. 

Mulder screwed up his face like a toddler ordered to eat  
cauliflower. "Sculleee! That stuff tastes like turpentine!" 

"I'll forego asking just how you would know how turpentine  
tastes," Scully replied, extending the little cup. "Hold your nose." 

Mulder hauled himself upright and tossed back the contents in one  
fell swoop, shuddering violently and making exaggerated gagging  
noises afterward. Scully ignored the theatrics and disappeared into  
the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with two mugs of hot tea.  
Mulder accepted the offering silently, but pulled her close when  
she sat down beside him. 

"Thanks, Scully." 

"No problem, Mulder. Just as easy to make two mugs as it is to  
make one," she pointed out lightly. 

Mulder pressed a kiss to her temple. "I don't mean just the tea," he  
said hesitantly. "I mean all of it, your patience, your support --  
even your nagging. I know I don't make it easy." 

Scully swallowed hard against the constriction in her throat.  
Mulder didn't do apologies in the classic sense, something she'd  
learned to accept. She understood just how difficult saying those  
words must have been, especially under the all-consuming anxiety  
over Grey's disappearance. 

"You do require a bit of effort," she agreed, weaving her fingers  
through his and bringing his hand to her lips. "But then again, I've  
always enjoyed a challenge." 

"I've been alone a long time, you know?" he continued, and she  
saw he was staring at their meshed hands with something very like  
awe. "I'm not accustomed to anyone else having an interest in my  
well being. I was like that Simon and Garfunkle song -- did you  
ever hear it? 'I am a rock, I am an island,'" he sang softly. 

"And a rock feels no pain," Scully murmured. "And an island  
never cries." 

"That's the one. And then you came along, Scully. And for the first  
time in forever, I had someone who was there for me -- and in the  
truest sense of the word. I can remember the first time I recognized  
it, as clearly as if it were yesterday. I woke up in that hospital in  
North Carolina, confused, scared, and my leg hurting like hell. But  
then I realized that someone was holding my hand, and the fear  
and pain eased up a little bit. I opened my eyes and saw you sitting  
there, in that cheap blue plastic chair that must have been  
incredibly uncomfortable, and you'd obviously been there all night  
because you looked completely exhausted. Then you noticed I was  
awake and you smiled. And it was like having the sun right there in  
my hospital room, all to myself. And I felt a little guilty -- not for  
putting the dark circles under your eyes, but because I'd do it again  
and again if it meant I'd be on the receiving end of that smile." 

Mulder burrowed his face into her hair and Scully reached over her  
shoulder to cup the back of his neck with trembling fingers. She  
wanted to turn in his arms and kiss him silly, but she could feel  
that there was more, that he hadn't finished yet. 

"I didn't think it could get better," Mulder finally managed to  
whisper. "Then I found Grey. And while you give me the things I  
never thought I'd have, he gives me things I never even knew I  
wanted or needed. God, Scully, ever since Samantha was taken I've  
felt like the shell of a person, minus so many of the basic elements  
that most people take for granted! It's like you two have managed  
to fill the empty places -- most of them anyway. But the cost to  
you, and now Grey..." His voice broke, but he forced himself to  
continue. "I feel like some kind of vampire, sucking the life out of  
you both to fill up the void in myself." 

Scully sat forward and turned to face him, eyes burning blue  
flames. "You know, you really piss me off when you talk like  
this!" she growled. "You are *not* to blame for the bad things that  
have happened to me, or for Grey's disappearance tonight. You've  
dedicated your *life* to fighting against the men responsible, and  
Grey and I have the right to make that same choice. We are exactly  
where we've chosen to be. And damn it, Mulder, did you ever stop  
to think that just maybe you give us something back? That you fill  
a few gaps in our lives as well?" 

Her ire produced results where tenderness would have failed. Eyes  
glistening, he pulled her back into his arms and nuzzled her neck,  
his warm breath sending shivers down her spine. 

"Don't wanna piss you off, Scully," he mumbled, but she could  
hear the smile in his voice. "Contrary to what some people believe,  
I'm not suicidal." 

They sat like that in companionable silence for a while. Scully's  
eyes began to feel heavy and she could feel Mulder sinking toward  
sleep, his grip on her easing and his breathing slowing. Just as she  
was about to suggest a move to the bed, he spoke. 

"I can't go through it again, Scully. I just... It hurts too much." 

The breath-stealing pain Scully experienced at his quiet confession  
was equaled only by the blinding anger toward those who  
orchestrated it. 

"You heard Skinner, love. We'll find him. And when we do, we'll  
make that smoking son of a bitch sorry. Very, very sorry."  
  


FBI Headquarters  
Sunday  
7:45 a.m.  
  


Skinner uttered two words and Fox Mulder turned into a raving  
maniac before his eyes. Out of his seat and pacing, a string of  
obscenities coupled with descriptions of revenge both creative and  
graphic tumbled from Mulder's lips. Occasionally a barking cough  
broke the flow and caused the man to catch his breath, but he  
quickly plunged onward, never losing his place upon resuming. 

Alex Krycek. Skinner massaged the spot on his forehead directly  
over the throbbing caused by too much tension and a guilty  
conscience. He could certainly sympathize with Mulder's reaction  
to the news that forensics had recovered the man's thumbprint on  
the engine block of his car. Krycek was a wild card, a confirmed  
traitor and a man whose only allegiance was to saving his own  
skin. He also happened to hold Skinner's life in the palm of his  
hand. Literally. 

"Mulder, sit down," he grated, finding small comfort in the fact  
that his ranting agent acquiesced. "I understand your feelings in  
this matter -- God knows, I'd like five minutes alone with the man  
myself, but this isn't getting us anywhere." 

"Did forensics come up with anything else, sir?" Scully asked,  
shooting her partner a look that managed to convey the message  
"behave yourself" as clearly as if she'd uttered the words. 

Skinner adjusted his glasses and picked up a piece of paper from  
his desk blotter. "The car was deliberately sabotaged, the fan belt  
cut part way with a knife so that it would break after only a brief  
period of use. The only fingerprints found inside the vehicle  
belonged to you, Mulder, or Grey." 

"So Krycek probably damaged the fan belt and then just followed  
the car, knowing it would break down eventually," Scully mused,  
glancing from Skinner to Mulder. "The print on the engine could  
be from when he cut the belt." 

"Or when he overpowered Grey," Mulder said tersely. "He had to  
get close enough to either hit him or drug him. I've mentioned  
Krycek, but Grey has no idea what he looks like. That bastard  
could have acted like he was trying to help and then ambushed  
Grey." 

Skinner clenched his jaw, feeling the small muscle twitch the way  
it always did when he was particularly irritated or stressed. He  
really didn't want to increase the burden on the man sitting across  
his desk, but felt obligated to share his thoughts. His ability to help  
Mulder directly was severely compromised, so the importance of  
providing what information he could only increased. 

"Mulder, I want you to consider something," he said gruffly. "Grey  
was driving *your* car after leaving *your* apartment. It's entirely  
possible that he was not Krycek's intended target." 

Mulder's restless fidgeting abruptly ceased and he went very still.  
Skinner could see the moment his agent made the connection -- the  
anger drained from his face to be replaced by a hurt so intense  
Skinner's own stomach clenched in sympathy. 

"You mean me," Mulder said, forming the words as if they were  
foreign objects in his mouth. "Krycek set the trap for *me* and  
wound up with Grey instead." His eyes squeezed shut and he  
swiftly shaded them by cupping a hand to his forehead. "God,  
Scully, I even gave him my jacket," he choked. 

Scully sent Skinner an agonized look before reaching over to lay  
her hand on Mulder's arm. Skinner expected soft reassurances  
designed to comfort, so Scully's no-nonsense admonishment threw  
him completely off balance. 

"Get past it, Mulder. Immersing yourself in blame isn't going to  
help Grey. We know now that Krycek has him, so the next logical  
step is to find Krycek." 

Perhaps more astonishing than Scully's "tough love" approach was  
the result. Mulder scrubbed once at his eyes and his slumped  
posture straightened. He turned toward his partner, eyes haunted  
but with the renewed steel of determination. 

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" 

Scully's lips twitched. "Time to cash in the chips from that debacle  
in Vegas?" 

Skinner's eyes darted between them, brows drawn together. "What  
exactly are you two talking about?" 

"Just utilizing unofficial channels, sir," Scully said, eyes glinting  
with repressed amusement. 

"Unofficial..." Skinner trailed off as the meaning behind her  
cryptic statement became clear. "Ahh. Scarecrow, Tin Man, and  
Toto," he said, equally pleased to put a startled grin on Mulder's  
face and complete bafflement on Scully's. "You go ahead and I'll  
keep the machine running here. Check in later this afternoon." 

To her credit, Scully maintained her professional persona until  
they'd exited his office, the door nearly shut. Skinner glanced up  
just in time to see her pause and grab Mulder by the elbow. 

"Scarecrow, Tinman, and Toto? Mulder, what in the heck was  
Skinner talking about?" 

Skinner smirked to himself. It wasn't every day you could nonplus  
the unflappable Agent Scully.  
  


Headquarters of the Lone Gunmen  
Sunday  
9:30 a.m.  
  


Mulder was definitely ill. After much bullying, Scully had  
convinced him to stop for a quick breakfast on the way to the  
Gunmen's place, but he'd used more of his bacon and eggs as the  
medium for transforming his plate into a modern work of art than  
he'd consumed. Scully cast a sideways glance at his flushed cheeks  
and the perspiration that beaded his upper lip, fighting a no win  
battle over whether or not to draw attention to it. Mulder took the  
decision out of her hands by unexpectedly turning on her. 

"Cut it out, Scully," he snapped, eyes narrowed in irritation. 

"Cut what out?" she returned shortly, her own temper slipping. 

"Looking at me like I'm going to keel over any second! You should  
be worried about Grey, not me." 

"I'm worried about you both, there's plenty to go around," Scully  
murmured, studying her hands in her lap. She heard Mulder take a  
long, deep breath and slowly release it. 

"I know. I guess I can't expect any less of you. But your concern  
isn't necessary, I'm doing fine." He snorted and shook his head. "If  
you really want to help me, figure out the best way to tell the guys  
that I have a brother." 

"They don't know yet?" Scully asked incredulously. "Mulder,  
they're your closest friends, why wouldn't you have told them?" 

Mulder lifted a shoulder and picked at his thumbnail. "I'm not sure.  
I guess I figured the fewer people that knew, the safer it would be  
for Grey. Obviously it didn't make a difference." 

He flung open his door before Scully could respond to that,  
swiping at the moisture on his face as he ambled up to the door.  
Scully grit her teeth and followed- - something she'd become quite  
proficient at doing over the last six years. 

"How many?" she asked, folding her arms as she waited for an  
answer to Mulder's knock. “It's daytime, and you phoned ahead.  
I'm betting on five or six." 

Mulder managed a shadow of a smile. " I think you underestimate  
the extent of their paranoia," he said, shaking his head. "I'm  
guessing at least eight." 

The sharp staccato of deadbolts disengaged began a moment later  
and they counted silently while grinning at each other. After the  
seventh thunk, the door cracked open to reveal Frohike's right eye. 

"I win," Scully announced smugly, moving to stand where the little  
man could see her. 

Mulder scowled. "How do you figure? Seven is halfway between  
six and eight!" 

"The rule says whoever is closest without going over, Mulder.  
Therefore, I win." She brushed past him when Frohike finally  
swung open the door. 

"What rule? We never discussed any rules!" Mulder called after  
her retreating back. 

"And just what can we do for the lovely Agent Scully today?"  
Frohike asked, accompanying his question with the expected leer. 

"Frohike, I'm hurt. Keep talking like that and I'll begin to feel  
unwanted," Mulder said, putting on an exaggerated pout. 

"You're always wanted here, Mulder -- just as long as you bring  
Scully with you," Frohike returned smugly. 

Langly, wearing a ratty blue bathrobe and sweatpants, shuffled into  
the room while munching a Poptart. He squinted at them a little  
irritably through his thick rimmed glasses. "Hey, Mulder. What's  
so important that couldn't wait?" 

"Good morning to you, too," Mulder replied. 

"Don't mind him. He was up half the night playing Doom with  
some cyberbuddies," Byers said smoothly, minus his usual suit, but  
still sporting a tie with his v-neck sweater. "Frohike said you  
needed our help and that you'd explain when you got here." 

Mulder shot Scully an oblique look and cleared his throat. "Yeah. I  
need you boys to pull out all the stops on this one. I have to find  
someone, and fast." 

"Who is it?" Frohike asked. 

Mulder kept his expression carefully neutral. "Alex Krycek." 

As if the pessimism fairy had waved her magic wand, doubt  
replaced inquisitiveness on all three faces. For a moment Frohike,  
Langly, and Byers just exchanged cryptic glances, saying nothing.  
Byers, ever the diplomat of the group, finally responded. 

"You realize we've tried this before, Mulder. Krycek is  
notoriously difficult to pin down." 

Worry and sickness combined to shorten Mulder's temper. "I didn't  
say it would be easy. What happened to all that talk about how  
your kung fu could beat anybody else's?" 

Langly scowled and looked about to retort, but Frohike cut him  
off. "We didn't say we wouldn't give it our best shot, Mulder. Just  
not to get your hopes up." 

"Well you could've fooled me! How are you going to give it your  
best shot if you've already made up your mind that it can't be  
done?" Mulder growled, pacing across the room and fiddling with  
an unidentifiable piece of electronics. 

Frohike's brows drew together but a small movement caught his  
eye before he could speak. Scully had taken a step toward Mulder,  
then hesitated. When she felt Frohike watching her she shook her  
head sharply and resumed her aborted movement, positioning  
herself at his side. 

"Mulder. Tell them why," she urged, voice as soft and smooth as  
silk. 

Frohike, perceptive as always, narrowed his eyes. "Just why do  
you need to find Krycek so badly, Mulder?" 

"Yeah, Mulder. What's the bastard done now?" Langly chimed in. 

"He kidnapped someone," Mulder replied quietly, still showing  
them his back. 

"What's the dude's name?" Langly persisted. 

Mulder turned slowly chewing his lip. "His name is Grey  
McKenzie. He was staying with me. We think Krycek may have  
mistaken him for me." 

"Do you think his life is in danger?" Byers asked carefully. 

Mulder traded a long, enigmatic look with Scully. "I don't know.  
But there's something else you need to know. Grey McKenzie..." 

"Is your brother," Frohike finished. 

Mulder's jaw dropped and Scully's eyebrows rose. 

"C'mon, Mulder, what kind of schmucks do you think we are?"  
Frohike sniffed, managing to sound both smug and wounded at the  
same time. 

"You certainly must realize that we maintain a discreet...vigil on  
matters concerning your well being," Byers added. 

"How long?" Mulder grated through clenched teeth. 

Guilty looks, like three little boys caught stealing cookies. "Since  
the first time he came up for a visit," Frohike finally confessed.  
"When you were having all those nightmares." 

"You *knew* about that? You bugged my apartment? Damn it, is  
there any part of my life you aren't privy to?" The implications of  
his own question sank in and Mulder turned pale, then red. 

Scully had apparently come to the same conclusion, and her voice  
crackled with high voltage, a promise of dire consequences. "Does  
that mean...?" 

"Alas, only in my dreams," Frohike sighed lecherously. 

"Byers made us take them all out when you and Mulder finally got  
together," Langly explained sulkily. 

"Good choice," Scully said darkly. 

"So you think that Krycek abducted your brother, thinking he was  
you?" Byers asked, effectively changing the subject. "Are you  
certain that Grey wasn't Krycek's target from the start?" 

"No," Mulder admitted reluctantly. "But he was wearing my jacket  
and driving my car -- said car having been sabotaged by Krycek  
so that it would break down. I think mistaken identity is a logical  
assumption." 

"Our last confirmed sighting of Krycek was nearly a year ago,"  
Byers remarked. "We'll have to proceed from that point." 

"Whatever it takes," Mulder said tightly. "I can't decide which I  
like least -- the idea of Grey in the hands of that rat bastard or that  
black lunged son of a bitch." 

Mulder had intended the statement to resonate with fury, but the  
slight quiver of his voice betrayed him. Scully's fingers dancing  
questioningly against his palm diverted him from embarrassment.  
He looked down into bluer than blue eyes that bestowed complete  
understanding without words. As it always did when she was near,  
the impending darkness receded. 

"We're on it," Langly said, already tapping away on his keyboard.  
"Keep your phone turned on and we'll call when we have  
something." 

"Don't worry," Frohike added as he walked them back to the door  
and began to throw back the line of locks. "You were right the first  
time. Our kung fu *is* the best." 

Mulder glanced at his watch, feeling the minutes slip by like water  
through a sieve. Grey had been missing for well over 12 hours and  
he couldn't fight the feeling that they were already too late. What  
he needed wasn't kung fu. He needed a miracle.  
  


Location Unknown  
Sunday  
10:30 p.m.  
  


Awareness seeped gradually into Grey's brain, like rain on hard  
baked ground after a long drought. The first perception to make it  
past his cotton-headed stupor was pain, so widespread it seemed as  
if every cell in his body hurt -- including his hair. The darkness  
that enveloped him was even more troubling, until he figured out  
his own lowered eyelids were the cause. Hefting them open proved  
to be a challenge, but after several dogged attempts he succeeded.  
He blinked owlishly at a white ceiling for a moment before turning  
his head to the left and taking in vaguely familiar stark white walls.  
Right back where he'd started, it seemed. He experimentally  
moved his arms and legs, gratified by full mobility. Whoever  
returned him either forgot the restraints or decided they were  
unnecessary. 

A cleared throat echoed loudly in the stillness, shocking Grey into  
whipping his head to the right so abruptly that the room tilted  
crazily on its axis for several minutes. When his blurred eyesight  
cleared, Grey saw a man with a weathered face and sharp,  
calculating gray eyes seated in a plastic chair and observing him.  
He registered the stench of cigarette smoke even as the man  
casually lifted one to his lips and sucked in a long draught. 

"First the rat bastard and now the black lunged son of a bitch,"  
Grey croaked, wondering why his voice sounded as if he'd been  
screaming. "Hail, hail, the gang's all here." 

The man's lips curved, whether in amusement or contempt Grey  
wasn't sure. "I see you share your brother's propensity for whistling  
in the dark. Amazing what a group of shared genes can produce." 

"What did you do to me?" Grey demanded, struggling to prop  
himself up on rubbery, aching arms. 

The man exhaled a noxious cloud of smoke. "Nothing that caused  
any permanent damage." 

"Easy for you to say, you're not the one who feels like he's been hit  
by a semi," Grey muttered. "I don't suppose I could get a glass of  
water?" 

The Smoker rose and moved to the sink, filling a plastic tumbler  
with water before returning. Grey accepted it silently, eagerly  
draining the contents while taking the chance to size up his  
situation. Without windows, he lacked the means to determine  
something as elementary as whether it was currently day or night.  
His extreme thirst and the emptiness in his belly hinted at the fact  
that he'd been in this place long enough to miss at least one meal.  
Beyond that, he knew very little. 

"Let's get to the point," he said grimly, returning the empty cup.  
"What are you going to do with me. And more importantly, what  
did you intend to do with Fox?" 

"The answer to your first question is that I will eventually return  
you to your brother -- once I have satisfactorily relieved my doubts  
concerning your origins." 

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" 

"I understand that Alex explained a bit about our interest in your  
brother?" 

Grey scowled. "If you call that an explanation! Sounded more like  
science fiction to me." 

CSM smiled thinly. "A submarine was once considered science  
fiction, Mr. McKenzie -- until it became reality. I assure you that  
the genetic modifications performed on Fox are very much a  
reality. It is whether any of those enhancements exist within *you*  
that remains to be seen." 

"So after you've tested me like some sort of guinea pig, you'll just  
let me go home?" Grey's voice oozed disbelief. 

"Suitably...conditioned to resume your life, yes." 

"You mean you'll do something to make me forget this place,  
forget you," Grey returned. 

The Smoker shrugged. "A reasonable price, don't you think? We  
could never allow you to leave here with your memory intact, and  
the alternative is...unpleasant." 

"To say the least," Grey growled. "What about my other question?  
What did you want with Fox?" 

CSM smiled enigmatically, casually taking another drag on his  
Morley. "Surely you can understand that any valuable investment  
requires careful monitoring." 

Grey's eyes narrowed. "But it's more than that, isn't it? Krycek  
said something, something about the experiment on Fox being a  
success 'until now.'" 

CSM dropped his cigarette butt to the floor and ground it beneath  
his heel, standing. "Alex talks too much. I'd suggest you get some  
rest, Mr. McKenzie. Tomorrow will be a very full day." 

"I want an answer! What's wrong with Fox? Are you the reason  
he's been sick?" Grey insisted, struggling to swing his legs over the  
side of the cot. 

The Smoker froze and turned slowly around. Piercing eyes  
scrutinized Grey's angry face. "How sick is he?" 

Grey jerked his head to stare at the wall. "Go to hell." 

To his astonishment, the man seized his wrist in a bone-crushing  
grip. "Don't play games with me, this concerns your brother's life!  
How sick is he?" 

Grey met the gaze calmly, prepared for the anger it contained. The  
genuine concern that lurked just behind the anger rattled him. "I  
only know what Dana told me. She said he's been sick a lot lately,  
and that he's tired all the time. He does have a pretty nasty cough  
right now, but he swears it's just the leftovers from a bad cold that  
he can't seem to kick." 

The Smoker continued to study his face for a moment, as if  
judging the truth in his words. What he saw seemed to trouble him  
\-- he spun abruptly on his heel and stalked to the door. 

"What is it?" Grey persisted, shaken by what he guessed to be an  
uncharacteristic reaction from the man. "What's wrong? Answer  
me, damn it!" 

CSM paused in the doorway, his bland mask firmly back in place.  
"Get some rest, Mr. McKenzie and leave your brother to me.  
You'll need that determination the next few days." 

The door clanged shut behind him while Grey still fumbled for a  
response. Cursing loudly at the four unforgiving walls he flopped  
back onto the mattress. For the first time since the ordeal began, he  
felt no anxiety over his own fate. The barely disguised alarm on  
the Smoker's face at his description of Fox's condition drove all  
fears for his own safety from his mind. Dana's words from the  
previous evening flitted through his head. 

*I can't shake the feeling that something is seriously wrong.* 

Always perceptive where Fox was concerned, it appeared her  
instinct might be correct.  
  


Headquarters of The Lone Gunmen  
Monday  
11:53 a.m.  
  


"What have you got?" 

Mulder propped himself against a filing cabinet, looking as if a  
strong breeze could topple him. Bruised-looking shadows marred  
the flesh beneath his eyes, accentuated by his pallor. His naturally  
lanky frame now appeared gaunt, wrists nearly skeletal where they  
peeked from the cuffs of his shirt. 

Langly frowned and pulled out the chair to his right. "Sit down  
before you fall down, Mulder. You look awful." 

"And to think I was just about to tell you how cute you looked in  
that shirt," Mulder wisecracked, but he folded into the proffered  
seat with a sigh. 

Frohike plucked at Scully's elbow and drew her aside with a tilt of  
his head. "What's wrong with him?" he asked, eyes darting from  
her to Mulder and back again. "This can't just be worry over his  
brother -- he looks sick." 

"He is. It's some type of respiratory infection, he's coughing almost  
constantly," Scully murmured, worry tinged with anger. "I'm pretty  
sure he's been running a fever too but he keeps popping aspirin  
before I can get a true reading. He needs to be in bed, not chasing  
down Alex Krycek, but he won't listen to me." 

Frohike snorted. "I watched the man sneak out of the hospital right  
after being shot in the head, remember? Believe me, I know how  
stubborn he can be." 

Scully managed a weak smile, then turned her attention to Langly. 

"Krycek showed up in town around January," he was telling  
Mulder. "Before that he'd popped up in various exotic locations,  
most notably Tunisia." 

Mulder lifted his head from where he'd propped in on a fist,  
searching out Scully's eyes before slowly nodding his head. "Go  
on." 

"One source swears that they saw him hanging around a local gym  
at roughly the same time, though what he'd be doing there is  
anyone's guess. He was definitely spotted at D.C. General  
Hospital shortly after that." 

"D.C. General?" Scully said sharply, her mouth suddenly lacking  
all moisture. She walked quickly over to stand behind Mulder,  
laying a steadying hand on his shoulder. "Are you certain?" 

"The source is reliable," Byers confirmed gravely, raising an  
eyebrow at her tone. 

"What was the name of the gym?" Mulder asked hoarsely, placing  
his own hand over Scully's. 

"South Street," Frohike answered, a small line creasing his  
forehead. "Why? You know the place?" 

Mulder tipped his head to meet Scully's eyes, seeing his own  
devastation mirrored there. "Yeah. I've heard of it." 

"It appears our friend remained in the area for at least a month. He  
was spotted numerous times with your buddy CGB and with his  
son," Langly continued, scanning a printout. 

"You mean Jeffrey Spender?" Scully asked, startled. 

"Yep. Krycek dropped out of sight right after Jeff Spender was  
shot. Until about a month ago." 

Langly waited, expecting pressure for more information, then shot  
Byers an uneasy look when Mulder continued to stare blankly into  
space. 

"You okay, man?" 

Scully's fingers tightened on Mulder's shoulder and he shook  
himself free of his daze. "Yeah." He muffled a cough, then cleared  
his throat. "Yeah, go ahead, I'm listening." 

"We've got records of a Karl Arntzen, matching Krycek's  
description, on a flight to New Mexico, then a return trip back here  
the beginning of October. After that, zip." 

Mulder leaned both elbows on the table and massaged his temples.  
"NOTHING?" 

"Nothing confirmed," Byers admitted. "Just rumors of him popping  
up at various locations around the area, like a will o' the wisp.  
Nothing substantial, and nothing traceable. Whatever he's up to,  
he's being very careful." 

"Which leaves us nowhere," Mulder replied, closing his eyes. 

"We haven't given up," Frohike said. "We'll keep trying." 

Mulder levered himself to his feet, wavering a little but impatiently  
shrugging off Scully's steadying hand. 

"You know where to reach us," he said, avoiding their matching  
looks of concern by heading for the door. 

Frohike made quick work of the locks while Byers and Langly  
exchanged troubled frowns. Mulder ushered Scully through the  
opening with his hand at the small of her back, but paused midway.  
Turning, he leaned his forehead wearily against the hand propped  
on the doorjamb. 

"I appreciate your help," he said quietly. "I know you've done what  
you could." He pushed himself upright and followed Scully to the  
car, leaving the Gunmen to stare at his retreating back. 

Fighting despair as well as the rebellion of his own body, Mulder  
slumped into the passenger seat of Scully's car. She'd inserted the  
key into the ignition, but made no move to turn it. 

"So, can you see the word 'sucker' tattooed on my forehead?"  
Mulder asked dryly. 

"I can't... Mulder, there has to be some explanation. Skinner has  
backed us up more times than I care to remember!" 

"I don't want to believe it either, Scully. But it fits. Skinner refused  
to let us pursue our investigation into who poisoned him. Now we  
learn that Krycek just happened to be spotted both at the location  
of the poisoning and the hospital where Skinner nearly died. Are  
you going to tell me that's just coincidence?" 

Scully bit her lip, well aware that Mulder's stony acceptance of  
Skinner's duplicity served to cover his feelings of hurt and  
betrayal. Something profound had occurred between Mulder and  
their boss during her abduction, something that cemented Mulder's  
trust of the man and turned him into a staunch defender of  
Skinner's integrity. She'd doubted that integrity more than once,  
most notably during her bout with cancer, but Mulder's faith  
remained firm. Since the death of Mulder's mother and his discovery  
of Grey, she'd come to view Skinner as not only a boss, but as a  
friend, valuing his steadfast support. Could they really have been  
so misled? 

"No," she finally answered, her voice little more than a whisper.  
"But I do think we owe him a chance to explain." When Mulder  
didn't answer she started the engine, then turned to face him.  
"What do *you* think it means, Mulder?" 

Mulder's head was tipped back, his eyes closed. "I think it means  
that Krycek was responsible for Skinner's poisoning, and maybe  
the cure." He opened eyes filled with recklessness, pain, and anger  
\-- a dangerous combination. "And I think Skinner had better have a  
damn good explanation."  
  


Alexandria  
Monday  
2:00 p.m.  
  


Scully emerged from the kitchen, a mug of tea doctored with  
honey and lemon in hand, to find him asleep. She walked slowly  
over to the couch, parking the cup on the coffee table. She hovered  
over him like an impotent guardian angel, knuckles pressed to her  
lips and eyes soft with affection. He'd been lying down, head  
propped up with a pillow to ease the coughing and legs bent to  
provide a makeshift easel for his notepad. If not for the gravity of  
the situation, she'd be charmed by the picture he now presented --  
glasses askew, lips slightly parted as if he were ready to argue even  
in sleep, and the pencil still clutched in one slack hand. Instead,  
anxiety clawed and shifted in her stomach like a cornered beast. 

Scully lowered herself to sit on the table, one hand seeking  
Mulder's cheek with a gossamer touch designed to assess but not  
awaken. Eyes sunken, cheek too pale and too warm. Scully gently  
stroked a lock of hair back from his sweaty brow, then pressed her  
palm to his chest, feeling the faint, telltale rattle that accompanied  
each rise and fall. 

As she gingerly removed his glasses, Mulder stirred and muttered a  
string of half-intelligible words that included "Grey" and "stop."  
All too experienced in soothing this man back from the edge of a  
nightmare, Scully wove her fingers rhythmically through his soft  
hair. 

"Shhh. It's all right, love," she murmured, keeping her voice low in  
both volume and inflection. "Sleep now." 

Mulder quieted immediately and after a few minutes his lips  
curved. "Scully," he breathed. 

"I'm right here," she said, unsure whether he was asleep or awake  
but continuing her gentle petting. 

He mumbled something she couldn't hear, fingers flexing so that  
the pencil slid unnoticed to the floor with a soft click. Scully  
leaned closer. 

"What?" she prompted, sotto voice. 

"Hips 'fore hans, babe," he mumbled, then turned to snuggled his  
face into the pillow. 

Scully fought the constriction in her throat, blinking hard to clear  
blurred vision. She brushed her lips across his brow and collected  
the notepad, about to join the pencil. Retreating to the armchair,  
she studied the makeshift timeline Mulder had constructed to  
account for Krycek's whereabouts. 

Tunisia. New Mexico. Just what exactly was Ratboy up to these  
days? Diana Fowley had traveled to Tunisia, contacting MUFON  
groups. And Albert Hosteen lived in New Mexico. Coincidences?  
If so, the number was growing at an alarming rate. 

A brisk knock on her door startled Scully from her musings.  
Casting a fleeting glance at the still sleeping Mulder, she stood,  
smoothing her skirt and tucking a strand of hair behind her left ear.  
She guessed who the visitor must be and found herself  
unconsciously taking deep, cleansing breaths to steady her nerves. 

Skinner examined her face as he entered, continuing to watch her  
closely as she shut and locked the door. 

"I got your message," he said. "Kim told me you needed to see me,  
and that it had to be here. I took a late lunch." 

Scully stared into the face of a man that, until two hours  
previously, she'd have sworn she could trust with her life. The  
features remained unchanged -- warm brown eyes magnified  
behind metal frames, firm jaw, lips thinned with unspoken  
questions. The man who had helped them clean out Teena Mulder's  
basement after her sudden death. Who had risked his own job to  
help her locate Mulder during his misadventure in the Bermuda  
Triangle and put Mulder's health above the need to catch a killer.  
She knew this man -- didn't she? 

"We appreciate you coming, sir," she said coolly. "We had to be  
certain that our conversation won't be overheard, and Mulder's  
friends recently swept this place for bugs." 

Skinner nodded sharply, then noticed Mulder for the first time. His  
jaw tightened and a line appeared between his eyes. 

"Is he all right?" 

Fury hit hard and fast, like being tackled while her back was  
turned. How dare Skinner profess concern over Mulder while  
shielding the man’s sworn enemy! Rather than betray those  
feelings to Skinner, she simply walked over to the couch and laid a  
gentle hand on Mulder's leg. 

"Mulder, wake up. Skinner is here." 

Instead of the hair-trigger response she'd come to expect, Mulder  
merely moaned softly and attempted to dislodge the offending  
hand without waking. Scully caught her lip between her teeth, then  
repeated the motion with more force. 

"Mulder. Wake up." 

This time his eyes fluttered open and fixed dazedly on her face.  
Positioning herself to block Skinner's view, she concealed her  
worry with a smile and a caress to his cheek. 

"Skinner is here," she repeated quietly. "You okay?" 

His tongue snaked out to moisten dry lips. "Water?" he croaked  
hopefully, levering himself upright. The hacking began  
immediately, until he was doubled over and breathless. 

"Hold on a minute." Scully scooped up the now cold mug of tea  
and disappeared into the kitchen. 

A series of beeps, and then the whir of the microwave wafted into  
the living room. Mulder rubbed his eyes with the heels of his  
hands, then ran his fingers over his hair in a hopeless attempt to  
smooth it. He eyed Skinner, now seated in the armchair, warily. 

"What have you been doing to yourself, Mulder? You look  
terrible," his boss asked gruffly in a tone Mulder had come to  
recognize as Skinnerconcern. 

"So I've heard. You people are beginning to bruise my fragile ego,"  
Mulder retorted, erupting in another series of coughs. 

Scully returned with the tea, which he sipped gratefully. Taking a  
seat at Mulder's side, they faced Skinner in the classic position of  
adversaries. Scully breathed an internal sigh of relief when she saw  
that Mulder had shaken off his lethargy. 

"What is it that you two wanted to see me about?" Skinner asked,  
eyes moving back and forth between them. "Is this about Grey?" 

Mulder glanced at Scully, then took a deep breath. "I have five  
words for you, sir. January. Krycek. South Street Gym." 

It must have been the last thing Skinner expected. He couldn't hide  
his grimace, though he averted his face quickly in an effort to do  
so. When he turned back to face them, his A.D. persona was  
securely in place. 

"You've lost me, Mulder. You'll have to be more specific than  
that." 

Mulder was off the couch and in Skinner's face with startling  
speed, one hand at the man's throat. 

"My brother, the only blood relation I have left on this earth, is  
currently God knows where enduring God knows what at the hands  
of that rat bastard -- the same scum-sucking bottom dweller that  
has been placed at both the gym where you work out and the  
hospital where you nearly checked out! Now you have one chance  
to provide a satisfactory explanation before whatever trust and  
respect I still have for you goes the way of the dinosaur. Is that  
specific enough for you?" 

Skinner's expression was inscrutable. "Let go of me, Mulder," he  
ground out through clenched teeth. 

Scully's calming hand at his elbow and a new round of breath-  
stealing coughs convinced Mulder to return to the couch. Skinner  
looked on silently while he struggled to control the spasms, the tic  
beneath his left eye the only external indication of his disquiet.  
When Mulder tapered off to an occasional cough, Skinner leaned  
forward, elbows on knees. He gazed down at his clasped hands,  
jaw working nervously back and forth. Finally his bowed shoulders  
straightened and he met Mulder's eyes. 

"Mulder, there *is* no satisfactory explanation. My hands are  
tied..." 

"BULLSHIT." The single word burst from Mulder's lips with such  
venom it triggered another series of hacking. He shoved  
himself up from the couch and stalked into the bathroom, where  
the medicine cabinet opened and then slammed shut with a bang. 

"He's got no business working this case," Skinner ground out.  
"He's too emotionally invested and he looks like he can barely stay  
on his feet." 

"Are you saying you're removing him from the investigation?"  
Scully asked stiffly, eyes twin chips of blue ice. 

"I wasn't speaking as his boss, Scully, but as his friend." 

"Do us both a favor, sir, and spare us your brand of friendship.  
You've seen this before, you know how Mulder operates. He won't  
stop until he's found Grey or killed himself in the attempt." 

Skinner winced, his eyes losing focus as his attention momentarily  
turned inward. Scully knew he was recalling Mulder's behavior  
during the three months of her abduction. Driven, her mother had  
once described his behavior during the time she was convalescing in  
her old home. Reckless in his single-minded desperation to find her,  
heedless of the physical and emotional cost. Self-destructive. 

Mulder wandered back into the room, wiping his lips with the back  
of his hand, a sour expression on his face that could be contributed  
to cold medicine, Skinner, or the unpleasant combination of both. 

"Still here, sir?" he sneered, dropping back down to the cushions  
with a creak of leather. "Don't let us keep you. I'm sure someone  
with your...*connections* has places to go, people to see." 

Skinner removed his glasses and drew one hand slowly down his  
face from forehead to chin, eyes squeezed shut as if in pain. He  
finally replaced the frames and looked up. 

"Krycek infected me with the nanomachines. He's got a...a device  
that can turn them on and off with the push of a button. That 'rat  
bastard' as you so eloquently call him holds my life in the palm of  
his hand." 

Mulder's face registered no expression. "Has he approached you  
for any favors?" 

Skinner smiled -- a bitter twist of his lips. "I met with him once.  
He promised he'd keep in touch." 

Mulder nodded slowly. The blaze within him banked to coals, only  
weariness remained. Scully slipped her hand over his and raised  
her chin. 

"Sir, is there anything, anything at all, that you can..." 

"I followed him," Skinner said grimly with the air of a man led  
before a firing squad. "I'm almost certain he didn't know. I stayed  
with him as far as the gates of a place called 'Nature's Best.'" He  
snorted. "They produce various food items, including corn oil.  
Sound familiar?" 

Mulder leaned forward, giving his notepad a small push that sent it  
gliding to Skinner's end of the coffee table. "Directions." 

Skinner waffled briefly before pulling a pen from his pocket and  
jotting on the pad with harsh, jerky strokes. 

"Hope you're right about the bugs," he said ruefully to Scully,  
tossing the pad to the table and standing. "I have to get back to the  
office." 

Mulder picked up the pad and trailed silently behind Scully as she  
uttered soft words of thanks and escorted their boss to the door.  
His eyebrows lowered, a line marring the pale skin of his forehead. 

"How far?" he asked, his eyes charting Skinner's face like new  
territory to be explored. "How far would you have gone?" 

Skinner's mouth dropped open, his chin jutting forward. "Far  
enough to preserve my life without selling my soul. Keep me  
posted, Mulder." 

A short nod to Scully, and he strode purposefully out the door and  
down the hall. Mulder frowned at the writing on the pad. 

"I'm calling the guys, Scully. We're getting Grey out of there, and  
we're doing it tonight."


	2. Chapter 2

Nature's Best, Inc.  
Monday  
11:53 p.m.

"This is crazy, Mulder. Sheer, unadulterated insanity."

Scully glared at her partner, her entire body thrumming with fury.  
Somehow Mulder had maneuvered her into the role she was  
playing, a role that went against some pretty fundamental beliefs.  
First do no harm. It was a basic creed among doctors, and  
one she took very seriously. What she'd done to get Mulder to this  
point, huddled in the back of the Gunmen's van and preparing to  
infiltrate Nature's Best, could be described negligent at best,  
criminal at worst.

"Scully, relax. I'm doing just fine. I haven't even coughed in nearly  
an hour," Mulder insisted, eyes overly bright and temperament  
what she commonly referred to as "twitchy."

"You are *not* all right, Mulder -- far from it! The only reason  
you aren't coughing is the truckload of codeine in that elixir I gave  
you, and you're wired out of your mind on that shot of caffeine.  
You may feel good now, but when you come down you're going to  
crash hard."

"Then I'll deal with it when the time comes. What's important now  
is that I'm able to go in there and get Grey without barking like a  
dog and giving us away." Mulder paused in his restless fidgeting,  
finally taking in the guilt on Scully's face. "You did the right thing  
to help me, Scully. Never doubt it."

He curved one hand around the nape of her neck and pressed a kiss  
to her forehead. The heat she could feel from his skin, however,  
undermined the reassurance in his words.

"I don't like being backed into a corner, Mulder," she persisted,  
pulling away from the embrace.

Irritation crept into his own voice. "I never forced you, Scully. You  
had a choice."

"The hell I did! What would you have done if I refused? Stayed  
home and let us handle this?"

Mulder's eyes skittered away from her unyielding stare. "No."

"So my options were to refuse your request and watch you  
endanger your life, or do whatever I could -- however unethical --  
to get you through the next few hours. Some choice, Mulder."

Mulder could be incredibly thickheaded, but occasionally she  
managed to squeeze through a chink in his armor of self-  
absorption. His annoyance crumbled, leaving him suitably contrite.

"You know I admire your beliefs, Scully," he said quietly,  
suddenly aware of the Gunmen's lame attempts to appear too  
occupied to notice their fight. "Even the ones I don't share. But this  
is MY brother, the man who has been there for me time and again  
over the last six months. I need to do this for him." His voice  
plunged until barely more than a whisper. "I need to do this for  
me."

Scully closed her eyes and pressed her lips tightly together,  
amazed and a little pissed off by the way the man could defuse her  
anger with a few well chosen words and a pair of soulful eyes. She  
loved him beyond reason, beyond common sense -- a feeling that  
was terrifying in its unfamiliarity, frustrating in its irrationality,  
and exhilarating in its intensity.

"Let's go," she growled at Frohike, who was ostensibly checking  
the microphones on their headsets. Before Mulder could  
congratulate himself she turned back on him, one eyebrow raised.  
"You owe me for this, Mulder. Big time."

One side of Mulder's mouth turned up in a gentle smirk and he  
pressed a hand to his chest. "Just name your price, oh mistress," he  
said with an exaggerated wink. "I am yours to command."

"Can it, Frohike," Scully warned, slipping past the little man and  
hopping out the sliding door. "In your dreams."

Frohike didn't attempt to hide his leer. "You peeked!"

Nature's Best, Inc.  
Tuesday  
12:12 a.m.

Getting inside the gate proved to be easy. Validating their "kung  
fu" claims, the Gunmen had spent the previous afternoon and  
evening hacking into the Nature's Best computer system.  
Blueprints and schematics of the buildings and outlying areas  
revealed a section of fence vulnerable to wire cutters. Mulder pried  
open the jagged edges while Scully and Frohike squirmed through,  
following as Frohike returned the favor.

"We're in," he announced quietly, adjusting a headset knocked  
askew by grasping, sharp pointed wire.

"Things look good on this end," Byers answered from his position  
in the van with Langly. They'd managed to patch into the buried  
phone cable that serviced the plant, Langly manning the keyboard  
and Byers only too happy to relay communications. He'd never  
quite recovered from his foray into the Lombard Research Facility  
with Mulder.

"Langly says you need to skirt the trees to the north. You'll see two  
buildings. The large two-story one is the factory. The smaller is  
research and development. Report when you're in position."

"Got it," Mulder said crisply.

Scully took the lead as they cautiously circled northward, keeping  
to the shadows of a thick copse of oak and birch trees, their leaves  
glittering silver in the moonlight. Clad from head to toe in dark  
clothing with her fiery hair tucked up in a baseball cap, Scully  
reminded Mulder of a sleek black cat as she picked her way  
through the underbrush. Dispelling the oddly whimsical notion  
with a shake of his head, Mulder moved quickly to her side when  
she pulled up short.

With a tilt of her head and a lifted eyebrow, Scully silently  
indicated the problem. Across an open, rolling meadow squatted  
two buildings, surrounding floodlights blazing bright as noon. Mulder  
contained a groan, eyes methodically cataloguing the area while  
one finger tapped at his puckered lips.

"We're in position," he finally murmured into his microphone.  
"There's no cover for at least three hundred yards leading up to the  
building. Are there any other options?"

A faint buzz of muted voices as Byers conferred with Langly  
before replying. "No other choice. He can disable the security lock  
and cameras on the west door for about forty-five seconds but  
you're on your own to get there."

Mulder cursed softly under his breath. Scully leaned over to lay a  
calming hand on his arm.

"We'll just have to make a run for it," she said practically, as if she  
were suggesting mild inconvenience instead of life-threatening  
risk. "We go all together, and we don't stop until we're through the  
door. With any luck the security guard will be off somewhere  
taking a nap."

Mulder studied her face a moment, then nodded. "You up for this,  
Frohike?"

"Get real, Mulder. You should know by now that I'd follow the  
lovely Agent Scully to the ends of the earth," Frohike smirked.

Mulder rolled his eyes while Scully wore an expression  
somewhere between pained and pleased. "On the count of three,  
Byers. And that door damn well better be open when we get there."

Crossing the open field, heart pounding and legs pumping, Mulder  
experienced the disjointed flash of an image courtesy of his eidetic  
memory. He'd been 10 and Sam 6 when his mother had taken them  
to see the movie Bambi at the dollar theatre. Dragged along against  
his will, he'd protested bitterly at being subjected to such kiddie  
fare. But within minutes the story had sucked him in, weaving him  
in its spell. He'd literally crept to the edge of his seat during the  
scene in the meadow when Bambi's mother sensed the hunter's  
presence and told him to run, run and not look back...

The recollection of the shock that had jolted his body at that  
fictitious gunshot jerked his head to the left, his eyes searching for  
Scully without slowing his momentum. She was only a few steps  
behind, flanked by Frohike, her face a grim mask of concentration  
as her shorter legs worked double time to match his own. The  
tightness in Mulder's chest loosened almost imperceptibly. He put  
on an extra burst of speed, right hand flung out before him as the  
door loomed into view. In the slow motion special effects of his  
own mind, he saw his fingers curve around the brass knob and  
twist hard just before his shoulder slammed into the metal.

And bounced off.

Before he could begin to process his lack of success, a distinct  
click pierced the huffing of his own distressed pants for air and  
Scully's small hand displaced his own to open the door. They  
slipped inside, pulling the door shut and ducking around a corner  
to avoid the temporarily blind video camera. Mulder folded over at  
the waist, an iron grip on his knees as he struggled to pull air into  
lungs that felt compressed by his ribs. He stared with dazed  
fascination as perspiration fell from his brow to patter on the dusty  
floor like rain.

The faint stirrings of a tickle in his throat brought panic. He raised  
his arm, turning his face into his shoulder in a desperate attempt to  
muffle the sound. Scully's fingers abruptly locked onto his chin,  
bringing his head up and around to face her. His protest silenced  
when she slipped the plastic mouthpiece of an inhaler between his  
lips and hissed, "Take a deep breath!"

If the past six years had taught them anything, it had been to trust  
each other unreservedly in dire situations. Though a deep  
inhalation would normally exacerbate his cough, Mulder ceded to  
Scully's instruction. A puff of something moist and faintly vile  
tasting was sucked into his lungs along with the oxygen, instantly  
aborting the compulsion to cough and easing the pressure on his  
lungs to a manageable level.

"Bronchodilator," Scully murmured, watching his face closely as  
she slipped the little miracle device into her pocket. "Don't talk for  
a minute, just breathe."

Mulder was only too happy to comply. When his hammering heart  
slowed, he was finally able to observe his locale and Frohike's  
absence. His eyes must have registered alarm, because Scully gave  
his hand a pacifying press with hers.

"Relax. He just went to scout out the hallway. Langly's guiding  
him."

As if summoned, the inner door cracked open to emit Frohike's  
head. He squinted at Mulder, a small line appearing between his  
eyes. "You all right? Ready to join the party?"

Mulder nodded, placing his hand in the small of Scully's back to  
guide her through the doorway. He leaned over to press his lips to  
hear ear, provoking an involuntary shiver. "Thanks, babe. Even if  
that stuff does taste like piss."

They slipped down a long corridor, the dimmed fluorescent bulbs  
and absence of activity exuding an aura of dormancy overlaid with  
watchfulness. Staggered doors on each side bore electronic locks  
and identifying nameplates -- microbiology, toxicology, electron  
microscopy. Mulder peered in through windows that divulged  
nothing more sinister than lab benches and equipment, Scully's  
home turf.

"Where are we going, Byers?" he growled, ducking around a  
corner with Scully and Frohike to avoid a security camera  
swinging their way. "We need some direction here."

"Langly says there's a wing in the back that's not identified on the  
blueprints. Go to the end of the hallway and turn left, then a quick  
right. You'll see a double door. He's trying to crack the lock now."  
Byers' words sped up with his increasing nervousness. "Lots of  
cameras in that area, Mulder. Langly can't get them all. Be  
careful."

They jogged quietly down the designated path, ducking into a  
doorway once to allow a lone technician absorbed in a file folder to  
shuffle past. Peering cautiously around the final corner, Scully  
gave Mulder a thumbs up before stepping toward the security  
doors that Byers had described. Mulder barely lifted a foot to  
proceed when her body slammed hard against his own, driving him  
backward into Frohike as they stumbled back into the shadows. At  
their questioning looks she scowled and mimed smoking a  
cigarette.

Mulder's eyes darkened and his body quivered with repressed rage.  
Ripping the headset from his ears he flattened against the pebbled  
texture of the wall as the rising drone of voices drifted closer.  
"...drip runs out in about an hour, you'll have the desired results."  
The voice was a high tenor with a nasal twang, eager to please.

"Excellent." Cancerman's gravelly voice broke off and then  
continued, and Mulder could visualize the missing drag on his  
Morley. "Will there be any side effects?"

"Nothing worse than you've seen before. Disorientation, headache,  
vomiting -- perhaps a low grade fever. You can still transport."

"That's good to hear. I have other, more pressing matters that  
require my attention."

Measured footsteps passed within inches as the men continued  
down the corridor without turning, and the irrational desire to  
reach out and catch Cancerman by the throat possessed Mulder  
until his hands unconsciously flexed at his sides. To wrap his  
fingers around that sallow throat, pinning him against the wall and  
squeezing to drive that smug expression from his face.

Swept up in the images, he didn't realize Frohike had moved  
toward the doors until Scully's hand stilled his clenching fists and  
brought him back on task. As vulnerable as bugs on a wall, Mulder  
could feel the cold electric eyes of the video cameras impassively  
recording their invasion. The small light above the complicated  
keypad on the lock winked a baleful red.

"Byers, now would be a very good time," he hissed, slipping the  
earphones back into place and tugging at the unyielding knob.

"Hang on, hang on, he's almost got it," Byers chanted.

More footsteps, impossible to determine origin when sound  
bounced and echoed off tile. Mulder slipped out his gun and  
clicked off the safety, sensing Scully do the same as his eyes  
tracked apprehensively around them. Steady tapping, purposeful,  
and drawing inexorably closer.

"We are running out of time," he grated through his teeth.  
"Someone's coming."

Frohike jiggled the knob again. "Damn it, Ringo! This is no way to  
get my video collection!" he muttered into his own microphone.

A soft click, the light flashed green, and they were tumbling  
through the first door, then the second, and sliding around the  
nearest corner. Once it became clear that the owner of the footfalls  
had passed, Mulder straightened and turned the handle of the first  
door, pushing it open on silent hinges.

The room was dark and completely empty of furniture or  
equipment with the exception of two cots that crouched beneath a  
barred window in a spill of moonlight. Mulder walked slowly over  
to the nearest, slipping his gun back into its position at the small of  
his back. Each cot contained a body, both young males in their late  
teens or early twenties. Only the slight rise and fall of their chests  
distinguished them from corpses -- that and the fact that restraints  
secured their arms and legs to the bedframe.

Frohicke peered around Mulder's shoulder, while Scully moved  
around to the other side. She hesitantly touched an arm, then  
turned it to curl her fingers around the wrist when the owner didn't  
move or awaken.

"Pulse is strong and steady," she said.

Mulder reached over, rotating the arm to expose the underside.  
"Look at this."

Track marks traced an ugly pattern from wrist to elbow, marring  
the smooth flesh. Mulder repeated his examination of the other arm  
with the same results. Scully leaned over, using thumb and  
forefinger to spread apart slack eyelids, then gasped sharply and  
pulled back.

"You okay?" Mulder asked, frowning at her uncharacteristic  
reaction.

"Yes. But he isn't."

Motioning for him to come closer, she pulled back the lid. The  
fixed blue orb beneath swam in a pool of black viscous liquid.  
Mulder recoiled, then cursed softly as Scully turned to examine the  
other young man. He'd nearly forgotten Frohike's presence until his  
elbow was seized in a vice-like grip.

"What the heck is that?" the little man demanded, eyes wide.

Mulder grimaced, turning for the door. "The ultimate betrayal."

Across the hall to the next door, and this time Scully turned the  
knob. This room was just as stark, but bathed in subdued lighting.  
A single figure lay motionless and restrained on the cot, an I.V.  
fastened to the back of one hand and dripping amber fluid.  
Mulder's breath caught at the sight of familiar dark wavy locks and  
he pushed past Scully in a blind rush to the man's side.

"Grey," he whispered, blinking rapidly to resist the hot prickling  
sensation in the back of his eyes.

Oblivious to Frohike and Scully's worried looks, he touched his  
brother with one trembling hand, laying the backs of his fingers  
against the warm cheek. Grey didn't twitch, his slow, deep  
breathing never altering. Biting down hard on his lip, Mulder  
raised his fingers to Grey's left eye and gently pried open the lid.  
Hazel irises, the pupils dilated to huge black circles, but no oily  
film.

Mulder quickly withdrew his hand and clutched at the edge of the  
cot, lightheaded with relief. Scully ran a comforting hand down the  
length of his arm, then turned to Grey, her blue eyes hard. Quickly  
and efficiently she disconnected and removed the I.V., using a  
corner of the sheet to apply pressure and halt bleeding.

"Is it safe to move him?" Mulder asked, voice thick with emotion.

"Anything that gets him out of here would be safe," Scully replied  
grimly. "His pulse is good. Let's go."

Frohike had retreated to a corner of the room, where he'd been  
speaking quietly to Byers. Seeing Scully shove the I.V. pole out of  
the way, he helped Mulder haul Grey partially upright. Grey's head  
lolled drunkenly on his neck as Mulder propped his upper body  
against his chest.

"We've got to go back out the way we came in," Frohike said  
apologetically, aiding Mulder's struggle to swing Grey's legs off  
the side of the cot. "There's no exit back here."

"How are you going to carry him?" Scully asked, a lump forming  
in her throat as she watch Mulder tenderly cradle his brother  
against his body. "He's a dead weight."

"Same way he got me back to camp during our nice little trip to the  
forest," Mulder replied. "Fireman's carry. You two will have to  
watch my back, I won't be able to defend myself." He slipped the  
gun from his waistband and handed it to a horrified Frohike.

"Mulder...man, I've never used one of these," Frohike protested,  
holding the weapon as if it were a poisonous snake.

"Come on, Melvin," Mulder coaxed with a grin as he hefted his  
brother's passive form over his shoulder. "I've never believed that  
saying about old dogs and new tricks."

Flashing him a disgusted scowl, Frohike awkwardly tucked the gun  
into his own waistband then lead the way back into the hall.

Within two minutes Mulder was unpleasantly reminded that Grey  
had been in prime physical condition while carrying him through  
the woods, not suffering from an unknown respiratory ailment.  
Sweat poured down his face and an annoying ringing filled his  
ears, blotting out Frohike's whispered instructions. He slid into  
automatic pilot mode, the world narrowing to the back of Scully's  
head and the mechanics of placing one foot before the other.

A small hand gripping his wrist and yanking him into a doorway  
ripped him from his daze. He leaned weakly against the wall,  
bracing himself with the shoulder not occupied by Grey, eyes  
closed and panting. Running footfalls and loud voices receded down  
the corridor and cool fingers pressed his cheek.

"They're onto us, Mulder," Scully murmured urgently. "Can you  
make it?"

Gritting his teeth, Mulder conserved energy by merely  
straightening with a nod. A few more twists and turns and they  
burst out into the crisp night air, crossing the meadow at a dead  
run. A popping sound, then a bullet whined past his left ear.  
Mulder ducked instinctively, stumbling and nearly losing his hold  
on Grey in the process. He could hear Frohike screaming, ordering  
Langly and Byers to pull up the van. Scully flashed by to his right,  
sprinting ahead to pull apart the gap in the fence. She squeezed  
quickly through, wincing when a barb raked her cheek and swiping  
impatiently at the line of blood as she maintained the opening.

Mulder threw himself to his knees, allowing Grey to slump to the  
frigid ground with a thud. He crawled quickly through, then turned  
to grasp Grey under the armpits and drag him to freedom, Frohike  
shoving from the other side. Two more sharp reports as Frohike  
dove through, rolling quickly to his feet. Mulder, his bones feeling  
like jelly, fought to pick Grey up as three figures approached the  
fence, guns in hand.

"STOP RIGHT THERE!" one barked, calmly swinging the  
weapon in Mulder's direction and squeezing the trigger.

Mulder let go of Grey, covering his brother's prone form with his  
own body. Scully popped up from her spot in a small ditch and  
fired several shots at the pursuers until they scrambled for cover.  
Grey chose this inopportune moment to moan and begin struggling  
weakly as Mulder attempted to gather him up.

"Here!"

Frohike scooped up Grey's legs and Mulder reasserted his hold  
under the man's arms, staggering toward the road and an oncoming  
set of headlights. The next few minutes passed in a blur of pure  
sensation - the crunch of tires on gravel, a blast of warm air from  
the van, strong hands pulling Grey from his arms, the vibration of  
the engine as he slumped onto the floor. At last he regained the  
ability to process the activity around him in a more sophisticated  
manner.

"That was too close," Byers said from the front seat and Langly  
grunted agreement from his position hunched over the wheel.

Grey was stretched out on a seat, Scully in doctor mode beside  
him. "Mulder, he's coming around," she said quietly.

Mulder shifted, began to cough, and gave himself over to the  
spasms for several minutes before he could move to his brother's  
side. Grey's eyes fluttered and he groaned, his head tossing  
restlessly back and forth. Mulder lay a calming hand over his  
brother's heart.

"Easy, Grey. You're safe," he murmured soothingly.

His brother's eyes slowly opened and he stared into Mulder's face,  
blinking. "I... How did I get here? Where am I?"

"You're in a van, we just got you out of that place Krycek took  
you. You're safe," Mulder repeated.

Grey's face screwed up in pain. "Hurts," he muttered, lifting a  
shaky hand to his head.

"We're going to take you to a hospital, get you checked out,"  
Mulder assured him. "Just try to relax."

Grey absorbed his words for a moment, then bit his lip. "I just have  
one more question," he whispered, voice thin and shaking.

Mulder mustered a grin. "Fire away."

"Who are you?"

GUMC  
Tuesday  
6:00 a.m.

Skinner stepped off the elevator and walked down the long quiet  
hallway, the brisk tap of his loafers out of place amidst the quiet  
whisper of crepe soles. When he neared the lounge, he spotted a  
lonely figure hunched over in one of the molded plastic chairs,  
head cradled in hands, and he unconsciously slowed his pace.  
Gritting his teeth, he wished once again that he were better at this,  
words of comfort flowing off his tongue rather than clogging in his  
throat. Inadequacy was a feeling he rarely experienced and barely  
tolerated, having discovered that simple avoidance usually took  
care of the problem. Like turning a corner into a brick wall at 90  
miles an hour, this time it couldn't be avoided.

Scully's call snatched him from the edge of a restless sleep, the  
fatigue and worry in her voice bringing him instantly awake. In her  
clipped, business-like style, used to maintain composure in  
emotionally charged situations, she'd briefly summarized their  
rescue of Grey and his current condition. Only when she finally  
worked up to making a request did her detachment slip.

"Sir, I'll be staying with Grey while the doctors run some tests.  
Mulder could use...that is, he's very..."

Imagining Mulder's state of mind all too clearly, Skinner had  
spoken without hesitation. "I'll be right there."

Only now, as he approached the man, did he curse himself for  
seven kinds of a fool. If he'd spent more time trying to nail  
Krycek and less worrying about his own skin, perhaps they  
wouldn't be here now -- Mulder looking like the walking dead and  
Grey...

He rested a hand on Mulder's shoulder as he sank into an adjoining  
chair, disturbed by the lack of response. When Mulder did raise his  
head, Skinner bit back an exclamation of concern. His cheeks were  
flushed with fever, eyes glassy with exhaustion.

"Mulder, why don't you lie down on the couch," he suggested  
gently, bracing himself for a typical Mulder scowl at the  
insinuation of weakness.

The lethargic shrug of shoulders increased his anxiety. "Don't want  
to fall asleep. I need to be awake when Scully comes back."

"You haven't heard anything yet?"

"He was unconscious again by the time we got here. They were  
going to do a tox screen, CAT scan, and some other tests to rule  
out brain damage." He spoke the last two words in a wispy thin  
voice lacking substance but not emotion.

Skinner licked dry lips. "You can't just believe the worst, Mulder,"  
he said, inwardly wincing at the lame sound of his own words.

Mulder's laugh had the quality of a sob. "Why not, sir? Don't you  
think past experience grants me that right?"

Skinner was still fumbling helplessly for a response when Mulder  
returned his head to his hands. "I'm so tired."

Misunderstanding completely, Skinner saw a way out and jumped.  
"Lie down, Mulder. I'll keep watch for Scully."

Mulder's jagged laugh turned into hacking, tapering off just as  
Skinner was ready to hunt down a nurse. "Sleeping won't fix this,  
sir. It won't give me back what they've taken -- what they continue  
to take. My sister. My father. Now Grey. They've taken Scully  
from me twice -- it's only a matter of time before they do it again,  
and this time I won't get her back. I'm not one of those damn  
punching toys, I can't keep popping back up." He turned his head  
to reveal haunted eyes. "I'm running out of reasons why I should."

"Then let me give you a few," Skinner replied in a voice fiercely  
gentle. "Millions of people going about their average,  
unremarkable lives in complete ignorance of the impending threat  
of slavery and death. A brother down that hallway needs you to be  
there for him, the way he's been there for you. And if that's not  
enough, there's a certain, redheaded partner who will personally  
kick your ass if you even think about giving up now."

As if summoned, Scully rounded a corner and headed down the  
hallway toward them. Skinner watched in fascination as Mulder's  
head snapped up and rotated, some internal Scullyradar alerting  
him. He stood, swayed slightly, then moved quickly down the  
corridor to meet her, Skinner in tow.

Scully frowned, cupping his cheek with her hand to feel the heat.  
"Mulder, I want you to let someone take a look at you," she said  
firmly.

Mulder fretfully pulled away from her touch. "Not NOW, Scully.  
How is he?"

She tensed as if ready to argue, then gave in. "We're still waiting  
on the tox screen and other bloodwork but the CAT scan looks  
good. He surfaced once or twice, but just long enough to be sick  
and he was pretty incoherent. They settled him in a room down the  
hall and are hoping he'll sleep off the worst of the effects. Mulder,  
I could kick myself for not taking a sample of that drug."

At the sound of her self-recrimination, Mulder sought out her hand.  
"We were a little preoccupied, Scully. Can I see him?"

"He's still sleeping. I'd rather a doctor took a look at you first  
and..."

"Damn it, Scully, my brother is lying in a hospital bed after they  
seriously messed with his head! No one is examining me until I see  
him, make sure he's going to be all right!" Mulder snapped.

"You're no good to him if you wind up here yourself, Mulder!"  
Scully retorted, beyond mere frustration with his intractability. "Or  
is your plan to be roommates?"

The acidic humor pulled him up short and he attempted to forcibly  
calm his impatience and his labored breathing. "Okay, okay. Just  
let me see him and then I'll let the doctor of your choice poke and  
prod me to your heart's content. Deal?"

Her lips curved a little but her eyes remained troubled. "Ten  
minutes, Mulder."

Skinner's voice broke through, reminding them of his presence.  
"I'll wait in the lounge," he said dryly. "Just in case you need back-  
up, Scully."

Mulder's look was scathing, but Scully openly grinned. "That's  
good to know, sir."

Tugging on his arm, Scully led Mulder down the hall and around a  
corner, steadying him when he began weaving a bit from side to  
side. She stepped through the open door of the first room on their  
left, moving over to allow Mulder to approach the bed. Another  
I.V., this one delivering saline, was inserted in Grey's hand, and a  
bandage at the crook of his arm marked where the nurse had drawn  
blood.

Scully pulled a chair up to the bed and motioned for Mulder to sit,  
a suggestion he was more than willing to accept. He tenderly  
clasped his brother's hand, taking comfort from the peaceful  
expression on Grey's face.

"They gave him some Compazine for the nausea," Scully  
explained softly, massaging the knotted muscles in Mulder's neck  
and shoulders. "It knocked him out but he should be coming  
around soon."

Mulder's thumb stroked Grey's knuckles. "There were no signs of  
trauma?"

"Some deep bruising on his abdomen and lower back but nothing  
to worry about. He'll most likely just be stiff and sore for a few  
days. He was a little dehydrated, but the saline will take care of  
that."

Mulder slowly shook his head, lips parted but unable to form  
words at first. "Just a little bit sooner, Scully. An hour or so earlier  
and maybe I could have prevented them from giving him whatever  
was in that I.V. I let him down."

"You did *not* let him down! You risked your own life to get him  
out of there, Mulder," Scully said vehemently. "He's here now,  
alive and getting treatment because of you."

"Did you call Kristen?" Mulder asked, clearly unwilling to accept  
Scully's appraisal of the situation.

She recognized the evasion, but let it slide. "Right before I called  
Skinner. She wanted to come over immediately, but I convinced  
her to wait until later this morning."

Grey's fingers twitched and his head rolled to the right, a string of  
indecipherable words conveyed with a moan. Mulder leaned in  
closer, eyes glued to his brother's face. Grey's tranquil expression  
contracted into a grimace and his eyelids twitched.

"Kate?" he mumbled, his voice like chalk on concrete.

Mulder shot Scully an agonized look, his thumb quickening its  
motion on Grey's knuckles. Grey's eyes blinked open and he stared  
fixedly at the ceiling for several moments.

"Thirsty," he rasped, licking his lips and slowly turning his head to  
focus on Scully, who was already moving toward the water pitcher.

She guided the straw carefully to his mouth and Grey drank  
greedily, rapidly draining the contents of the small plastic cup. His  
eyes tracked around the room as he swallowed, a small frown  
darkening his features.

"Where am I?"

"Georgetown University Medical Center," Scully said, setting the  
empty cup on the nightstand.

"What's wrong with me?"

"What do you remember?" Mulder spoke up, his own face drawn  
with anxiety.

Grey started and his eyes darted to his brother as if noticing him  
for the first time. He started to speak but then snapped his mouth  
shut and studied Mulder, his frown deepening. One shaky hand  
crept to his forehead, and he rubbed at the spot just over his eyes.

"I...I don't..." He trailed off, eyes wide with fear and respiration  
coming in short pants.

"Easy, Grey," Scully said calmly. "Take deep breaths, you're going  
to hyperventilate."

"Everything is all tangled up," he moaned, heedless of her  
warning, drawing inward. "Like pieces from different puzzles all  
spilled together. Nothing fits to make a complete picture!"

"It's okay," Mulder said, gripping Grey's hand hard until his  
brother winced a little and seemed to regain focus, tugging to free  
himself from Mulder's grasp. "You're safe now, that's what matters.  
No one can hurt you. You're safe."

Grey abruptly ceased struggling and went still, his jaw dropping  
open and his gaze fastening on Mulder's face like a drowning man  
to a life preserver.

"I remember... you...you were hurt and lying in a hospital bed. You  
had a...a bad dream and I...I held your hand and told you that you  
were safe." He shuddered, the vibration passing through his whole  
body, and his eyes blurred behind a sheen of tears. "Fox."

Mulder grinned, but his lips quivered suspiciously. "Scully always  
tells me I'm unforgettable."

Grey rolled his eyes, a flash of his usual humor surfacing. "I was  
there, little brother. I believe the word she used was 'impossible.'"

Mulder chuckled roughly, turning his head and swiping at his eyes  
with the sleeve of his shirt. Scully bit her lip, distressed by the way  
his fingers trembled.

"So why am I here?" Grey repeated, all traces of laughter gone.  
"My last clear memory is of playing basketball with you. Is that  
right?"

"That was Friday," Mulder said grimly. "It's Tuesday. You were  
kidnapped on your way to see Kristen on Saturday night. We  
finally figured out where they were holding you and got you out  
early this morning."

"Why can't I remember any of that? Why does my brain feel like  
scrambled eggs -- not to mention this headache! Did someone hit  
me over the head, give me a concussion?" Grey struggled against  
the panic that wanted to devour him.

Mulder ran fingers through his hair and down to cup the back of  
his neck, sensing the muscles that had loosened under Scully's  
ministrations grow taut. "We're pretty certain they gave you some  
kind of drug to tamper with your memory. You were hooked up to  
an I.V. when we found you."

Grey blanched, gaze flitting back and forth between their faces as  
if to assure himself that he wasn't the subject of an elaborate  
practical joke. What he saw must have convinced him, for his  
fingers clenched tightly onto the sheets.

"You keep saying THEY. THEY kidnapped me. THEY drugged  
me. Who did this? And what could they possibly want with me?"

Mulder reacted as if slapped, flinching and drawing back from the  
bed. Scully saw him fumbling for a response, and stepped closer to  
his side.

"We think they were after Mulder, Grey. Taking you was a  
mistake."

Grey processed this, then reached out his hand. "Fox. Don't."

It was enough. Mulder stretched out his still trembling hand to  
briefly clasp his brother's. Even separated by several inches, Scully  
could feel the heat radiating from his body. She glanced at Grey to  
see if he noticed, but his eyes were already beginning to droop  
with weariness. Seeing her opportunity, she lay one hand on  
Mulder's shoulder.

"Ten minutes are up, Mulder," she said quietly. "We had a deal."

Mulder's lips thinned. "Five more minutes, Scully, we just..."

"Mulder. Look at him."

As she'd hoped, concern for his brother achieved what her own  
threats could not. Mulder registered that Grey's eyes were mere  
slits and his annoyance faded.

"Get some sleep," he told Grey mildly. "We'll talk more later."

Grey nodded amiably, not bothering to open his eyes. "'Kay."

Mulder stood with all the agility of a ninety-year-old man.  
Evidently his blood didn't get the message that his head was  
moving up, since the world went uniformly gray and without  
Scully's death grip on his arm he would have gone down in a heap.  
She steered him out the door and down the hall, to the lounge and  
the incongruous image of Skinner with a copy of "Better Homes  
and Gardens" in his hands. When he saw Scully's face looked  
nearly as pale as Mulder's, he jumped up to help her settle her  
partner in a chair.

"I'm okay!" Mulder snapped, then disintegrated into harsh, wet  
coughs, bending forward and clutching his ribs.

Skinner pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it into  
Mulder's right hand. He brought it to his lips and attempted to  
muffle the raw, uncontrollable spasms. When they finally  
diminished, Mulder clutched the bit of cloth in a fist pressed tightly  
to his lips.

"That's it, Mulder. We're going downstairs to the emergency room  
right now," Scully said, trying for her command voice but only  
managing to sound desperately worried.

"I don't want Grey left alone," Mulder replied stubbornly, his voice  
fading in and out like a man with laryngitis.

Skinner shook his head. "Mulder, we've already determined that  
they probably never wanted Grey in the first place. I'm sure he's  
not in any..."

"They never finished wiping his memory!" Mulder cut in. "He  
might have seen something, heard something that they didn't  
intend for him to remember." He struggled to stand, still forcing  
words from his abused throat. "I won't take a chance, Skinner! You  
have to promise me..."

Mulder froze, only halfway to standing, his eyes becoming  
impossibly wide and losing focus before rolling back in his head.  
Skinner caught him before he could pitch forward onto the tile,  
terrified when he felt Mulder jerking spasmodically in his arms.

"Oh God, oh God, he's seizing! Lay him down on the floor!"  
Scully moaned. "We need help down here!" she bellowed in the  
direction of the nurses' station.

Skinner complied, fighting not to lose his grip on Mulder's twisting  
body. By the time a nurse arrived with an orderly and a gurney,  
Mulder had gone limp and very still. Scully hovered, barking  
orders like a drill sergeant as he was expertly lifted and strapped  
down. She followed them down the hallway and into the elevator  
without sparing Skinner a backward glance, one of Mulder's hands  
cradled in her own and a continuous flow of background  
information directed at the nurse.

Skinner stood in the middle of the vacant lounge, shock  
smothering his emotions like a heavy wool blanket. Forcing  
himself from his stupor, he clenched his teeth. The best way he  
could help Mulder now was to ensure that he concentrate on  
getting well. If the man wanted Grey under protection, he'd see to  
it himself.

Skinner took three steps before his foot landed on something soft  
and lumpy. Looking down, he saw his crumpled handkerchief and  
bent to retrieve it before continuing toward Grey's room. He was  
about to tuck it absently into his pocket, but a flash of color caught  
his eye and he halted. His stomach knotted as he unfolded the  
pristine white square to reveal ugly splatters of bright crimson.

GUMC  
Tuesday  
11:45 a.m.

"I know you weren't thrilled about going to that concert, but don't  
you think this was an extreme way to avoid it?"

Grey brought Kristen's hand to his lips and placed an apologetic  
kiss on the palm. "I believe that's called 'extenuating  
circumstances,'" he said ruefully. "I promise to make it up to you  
when I get out of here."

Kristen shifted a little more firmly onto the edge of the mattress.  
"And that will be...?"

Grey curled his lip. "Not soon enough. Actually, it's possible  
they'll release me tonight, if I can keep down my dinner." He rolled  
his eyes. "No small feat when you consider the slop they served for  
lunch."

"I'd be glad to play chauffeur," Kristen offered, her shy smile  
revealing matching dimples. "In the interest of your complete  
recovery, of course."

Grey grinned back. "Of course. But I'll have to get back to you.  
Fox will most likely be planning to take me home, since I'm  
staying at his place."

Kristen shook her head, frowning in confusion. "Fox? But he can't  
do it, he's…" She stopped abruptly, chewing on her lower lip and  
turning her face to gaze out the window.

"What? He's what?" Grey demanded, alarmed by her discomfiture.  
"Kristen, what's going on?"

"I thought you knew. You didn't seem surprised that he hadn't been  
back to see you," she said quietly, hands twisting in her lap.

Grey sat up and stilled them in his own. "Tell me."

"He's very sick, Grey. The A.D. told me he's been admitted and  
they're running tests. They think it's pneumonia."

Grey's expression shifted quickly from anguish to anger. "Why  
didn't anyone tell me? Did they think I wouldn't want to know?"

"I guess they didn't want to upset you, when you were sick  
yourself. The A.D. said ... Grey!"

Grey ignored Kristen's cry of alarm as he grimly rid himself of the  
I.V. and tossed off the blanket. He swung his legs over the side of  
the mattress and rested for a moment, feet dangling, before  
offering her a tight smile.

"I suggest you turn around, darlin' or we're going to get to know  
each other a lot better. This gown isn't made for taking a stroll."

Blushing furiously, Kristen turned her back and folded her arms  
across her chest. She heard the slap of bare feet on tile, the click of  
a light switch, and then running water.

"Kristen?"

She turned cautiously to see Grey's head poking from the bathroom  
door.

"Would you find Walt and send him in here? And have him bring a  
pair of scrubs? My clothes seem to be missing."

"You shouldn't be doing this, Grey," she said, cursing herself for  
revealing information that Dana and Assistant Director Skinner  
evidently felt Grey was in no condition to hear. "You've been  
through a terrible ordeal, you need to rest."

Grey's intense focus softened. "Come here."

She complied, but unenthusiastically, brows contracted with worry  
and guilt. Grey ran the backs of his fingers down her cheek, then  
cupped it tenderly.

"I'm doing much better. He's my brother, and I need to be with  
him. There have been too many times in his life when he's been  
left alone.

Kristen placed her hand over his and nodded. "I understand. Just  
try to pace yourself, okay?"

Grey pressed a swift kiss to her lips and smiled. "Deal. Now please  
have Walt find me some pants. I promise I'll call you later."

Grey climbed into the shower, sighing in pleasure as the hot water  
washed away the sweat and grime accrued from three days of...  
What? His mind was a collage of disjointed images interspersed  
with patches of complete darkness. Dana had said that they  
believed Fox to be the intended target of the kidnapping. Why did  
that thought fill him with such a prickling uneasiness?

He emerged from the shower to see a pair of sweats and a tee shirt  
hanging from the hook on the back of the door. He toweled off  
quickly, resting briefly on the seat of the toilet when he became  
light-headed. Skinner sat rigidly on the edge of his vacated bed, a  
disapproving scowl darkening his face.

"Thanks," Grey said diffidently, gesturing to his clothing. "How'd  
you get these?"

"I still have Mulder's gym bag in my trunk. They removed it when  
his car was impounded as evidence and I kept forgetting to return  
it. Those disreputable running shoes of his are here too, and some  
socks. I wasn't sure if they'd fit you."

"Close enough," Grey said, sinking into the chair and pulling the  
soft white cotton over his left foot.

"You're not ready for this," Skinner growled, watching him lace up  
the shoes.

The anger, which had continued to simmer as he showered and  
dressed, sprang to a full boil.

"I think *I* am the one qualified to decide that," he snapped. "You  
had no right to keep this from me, Walt. It doesn't matter how pure  
your motivations were."

"Grey, twelve hours ago you didn't even recognize your brother.  
>From what Scully tells me you spent the better part of the morning  
vomiting and disoriented as hell," Skinner kept his tone reasonable,  
but the thrust of his jaw testified that it was difficult. "We weren't  
going to keep this from you indefinitely, just until we had a better  
handle as to what's going on."

"He's my brother, damn it! He just put his life on the line for me. I  
need to be there for him." Grey stood up slowly and deliberately,  
rubbing the stubble along his jawline.

"He's not going to know the difference right now, Grey," Skinner  
replied soberly. "He's very sick."

Skinner's words rebounded in Grey's head, triggering an image  
both stark and frightening in its clarity. As if suddenly removed  
from himself, he saw the scene unfold.

*Piercing dark eyes scrutinizing his face. "How sick is he?"*

*Feelings of fear, rage, helplessness intermingled. The stench of  
cigarette smoke and the ache of abused muscles and bones. "Go to  
hell!"*

*The craggy face displaying concern as well as anger. "Don't play  
games with me, this concerns your brother's life! HOW SICK IS  
HE?"*

Skinner darted forward to grasp Grey's elbow as the man swayed  
and clutched his head. He guided Grey back down into the chair  
with no resistance, then turned to pour a glass of water.

"Yeah, you're a terrific judge of what you're ready to do," he said  
sarcastically, placing the cup in Grey's jittery hand.

Grey took a gulp of the cool liquid and a deep breath before  
responding. "It's not what you think. I just...I think I just  
remembered something."

"Something from the last three days? What?" Skinner realized he  
was towering over Grey and consciously backed off, sitting back  
down on the bed.

Grey turned the cup slowly and stared into its depths as if would  
reveal the answers he sought. "It doesn't make sense, really. I  
remembered a man asking me questions about Fox, about his  
illness. He seemed…concerned, and he told me that Fox's life  
depended on me telling him what he wanted to know."

"Anything else?"

Grey was silent a moment, then nodded bleakly. "Yeah. I smelled  
cigarette smoke."

Every muscle in Skinner's body went taut, and he muttered several  
colorful words under his breath. "I shouldn't be surprised," he said  
darkly. "Whenever Krycek turns up, that SOB isn't far behind."

"Krycek? You mean the guy Fox calls 'that one-armed rat  
bastard?'"

Skinner chuckled. "He does have a way with words. That's the one,  
all right. We found his thumbprint on Mulder's car. He must be the  
one who kidnapped you."

Grey stared into empty space, hands clenched on the arms of the  
chair. After a minute his shoulders slumped and he massaged his  
temples. "Nothing. That part is still a blank."

"Give it time," Skinner replied mildly. "You're not going to force it  
to come." He sighed in resignation. "If you're ready, I'll take you  
up to Mulder's room. I already explained your insanity to the nurse  
in charge, but you'll have to stop by and sign yourself out AMA."

He stood and extended a hand to Grey. "You know, you and your  
brother may just be the two most stubborn men I've ever met," he  
said ruefully.

Grey allowed himself to be pulled up and grinned. "Why thanks,  
Walt. I always do enjoy coming out on top."

Intensive Care  
Tuesday  
1:00 p.m.

Scully squeezed excess water from the soft terry cloth and gently  
bathed Mulder's burning cheeks before laying it on his brow. In  
spite of the cooling blanket his temperature remained dangerously  
high, though he'd been seizure free for the last several hours.  
Scully reached her right hand through the side rail to grasp his limp  
one, the skin hot and dry, while her other soothingly stroked  
through his hair.

"What's happening here, Mulder?" she whispered. "You're scaring  
me."

When they'd gotten Mulder to the emergency room, Scully had  
been horrified to learn that his temperature had spiked to over 104  
degrees, provoking the seizure in the lounge and a second, longer  
one in the trauma room. Both lungs were congested with fluid and  
he'd ruptured some blood vessels along his trachea through the  
violence of his coughing -- a fact she'd explained to her white  
faced boss when he'd turned up a few minutes later with the bloody  
handkerchief.

Despite bitter complaints, the ER personnel had resolutely ejected  
Scully and sent her to the waiting area, Mulder becoming the  
queen bee in a flurry of workers. Blood drawn, sputum cultured,  
and a CAT scan run to rule out brain damage from the seizures. An  
arterial line, I.V., Foley catheter, pulse oxymeter, heart monitor,  
and oxygen mask put in place. Finally they'd packed him off to  
ICU, where she was allowed to rejoin him as she waited for the test  
results.

She'd just removed the already warm cloth and was dipping it in  
the basin of water when Skinner and Grey stepped into the cubicle.  
Scully's eyes widened, then narrowed in annoyance.

"You're supposed to be downstairs, resting," she told him. "Do  
they even know you're here?"

"I'm no longer their problem. I checked myself out," Grey  
answered distractedly, moving around her to get closer to his  
brother. He stretched out a hand and tentatively brushed his fingers  
across Mulder's forehead, wincing at the heat. "What's wrong with  
him, Dana?"

All at once the tension of Grey's disappearance, fatigue from too  
many sleepless nights, and worry over Mulder's illness congealed  
into a crushing weight in her chest, and Scully struggled for  
composure. "Bacterial pneumonia," she said, blinking hard. "We  
just won't know what strain until the results of the culture come  
back -- tomorrow at the earliest. Until then they've got him on a  
broad spectrum antibiotic and they'll perform respiratory therapy to  
clear his lungs."

"He's so hot," Grey murmured. "His skin feels as if it's on fire."

"Actually, his temperature has dropped about a half degree since  
they brought in the cooling blanket," Scully said. "It's not much,  
but at least the seizures have stopped."

"How did he get this sick this fast? I know he was a little under the  
weather, but..."

Scully shrugged, absently stroking the tender skin around the I.V.  
with her thumb. "Worry, exhaustion, poor diet… I guess it all  
combined to accelerate the process. Hard to fight off a disease  
when you've been abusing your body."

"Because he was looking for me," Grey said guiltily. "You don't  
have to say it," he added quickly when Scully looked  
uncomfortable. "I know him well enough to picture what he must  
have been like."

"Dr. Scully?"

The ICU nurse in charge of Mulder's care walked into the cubicle  
bearing a cart of medical paraphernalia. A young woman, Elena  
Alvarado wore her jet-black hair twisted into a thick cable that fell  
halfway down her back and rose-colored scrubs.

"Dr. Brewer is waiting to speak with you down the hall in the  
lounge. I'll take care of Mulder's therapy while you're gone," she  
said, nodding to acknowledge Grey and Skinner.

Scully smiled warmly, pleased that Elena had remembered her  
advice not to call Mulder by his first name. "Thanks, Elena. Can  
you handle him alone? I'll be glad to help after I speak to the  
doctor."

"I'll be fine, thanks. Joey is coming in to give me a hand so we  
should be able to get it done quickly. With any luck, all the  
unpleasantness will be over by the time you get back." Seeing  
Scully flinch she reached over to pat her arm. "Try not to fret.  
We'll get him through this and he'll be back to hunting down the  
bad guys in no time."

Scully leaned over to place a kiss on Mulder's cheek, murmuring  
something that was obviously meant for his ears alone. With a  
weak smile for Elena and a final parting glance at his still face, she  
allowed Skinner to take her by the elbow and gently steer her from  
the cubicle.

Grey hung back, watching the nurse set up a small machine and  
begin to unpack sterile tubing. When she gently removed the  
oxygen mask from his brother's face, he turned and trotted quickly  
to catch up to Scully and Skinner.

"Dana. Just what does this therapy entail?" he asked, ducking a  
little to peer into her face.

Scully's reply was subdued and she avoided his eyes. "It's vital to  
clear the bad stuff out of his lungs, Grey. And Mulder is too weak -  
\- he can't do it himself right now."

Grey pictured the coil of tubing and swallowed hard. "Will it...  
Will it hurt him?"

She licked her lips. "It's not pleasant. But then, Mulder isn't exactly  
cognizant right now." She blinked at the film in her eyes that  
turned the sharp lines and planes of the hallway into an indistinct  
blur. "Last time he never really woke up enough to realize what  
was happening."

Dr. Nicholas Brewer looked like a cross between young urban  
professional and California surfer dude. As he stood in the center  
of the lounge, studying a chart, he gave the appearance of the  
consummate professional -- crisp white coat, serious blue eyes  
framed by wire-rimmed glasses, and a stethoscope slung around  
his neck. But here and there about his person lurked the signs of  
subtle rebellion against the status quo. Blond hair just a little bit  
too long and unruly, feet clad in Doc Martens rather than shiny  
dress shoes, and the tie… Distracted and nearly out of her mind  
with worry as Mulder succumbed to a second seizure, Scully had  
taken one look at the obnoxious riot of color knotted about the  
doctor's neck and felt an instant sense of peace. Mulder would love  
that tie -- the man was obviously a kindred spirit.

Brewer looked up at their approach and offered a welcoming  
smile, but Scully's stomach dropped at the sight. She'd pasted on  
too many similar smiles herself, when breaking devastating news  
to a victim's loved ones, not to recognize it when on the receiving  
end. Whatever was on that chart was not good news.

"Dr. Scully," he said, casting a questioning glance at Skinner and  
Grey. "The results of the CAT scan and some of the bloodwork  
have come back. I'd like to go over them with you."

"This is Assistant Director Skinner, our boss at the bureau," Scully  
said with a slight tilt of her head. "And Grey McKenzie, Mulder's  
brother. I'd like for them to hear the results as well."

Brewer shook hands and exchanged brief pleasantries with Skinner  
and Grey, then focused sober eyes on Scully.

"You obviously don't play cards, Dr. Brewer," Scully said with a  
levity she did not feel. "Your face tells me that those results aren't  
going to ease my mind."  
Brewer's lips quirked. "So that's why they always include me on  
poker night," he said dryly. He tucked the folder under his arm and  
clasped his hands together. "We made a disturbing discovery on  
Mr. Mulder's CAT scan. I know you're going to want to see it for  
yourself, and I have no objections. I've already alerted them you'll  
be stopping by."

Hard to force words through a parched throat. "What kind of  
discovery?"

Brewer ran one hand along his lightly stubbled jaw, eyes clearly  
communicating puzzlement. "I don't know what to call it. I've  
certainly never seen anything like it, and neither has the consulting  
oncologist."

Scully actually staggered a little, and only Grey's strong grip on  
her elbow kept her upright. "Oncologist?"

Brewer's blue eyes were kind, the wrinkles around his mouth a  
testament to his regret. "There's really no way to ease into this, Dr.  
Scully, so I'm just going to say it. Mr. Mulder has some kind of  
mass located on his pineal gland, but unlike any tumor I've ever  
seen. I know it sounds crazy but it looks like...like..."

"Worms," Scully whispered, feeling as if something vital had been  
sucked from her body. "Black worms."

She barely registered Brewer's stunned confirmation over the  
ringing in her ears. "Yes. That's it exactly! But, how did you  
know?"

ICU  
Tuesday  
7:38 p.m.

Grey used his knuckles to scrub at eyes grown bloodshot and gritty  
with fatigue. Between the jam-packed events of a very long day  
and the black hole in his memory, he found himself fighting the  
surreal feeling that his life outside the hospital was just a dream --  
or perhaps worse, had ceased to exist. Barely twelve hours ago,  
he'd played the role of patient, Fox the worried brother. Grey had  
learned during Kate's cancer that life often possessed a cruel sense  
of humor. Looking at Fox now, their positions swiftly and brutally  
switched, he could swear he heard the ghostly echo of cosmic  
laughter.

"Always got to hog the spotlight, don't you, little brother?" he said,  
the soft words coated with pain, not aggravation. "You've got our  
complete attention, I promise. Why don't you wake up so you can  
enjoy it?"

Fox's harsh puffs of breath, muffled by the oxygen mask, remained  
steady, his face slack and one hand curled limply over his stomach.  
Thanks to some heavy-duty antibiotics and an anti-pyretic, his  
fever had crept down another degree -- still high but not  
dangerously so. The truth of the matter was that he should be  
awake by now, or at least in and out. Dr. Brewer was not  
particularly concerned, but the thinly disguised panic in Dana's  
eyes left Grey with a chunk of ice in his gut that still hadn't melted.

Grey closed his eyes and curled over to rest his head in his hands,  
replaying the earlier conversation with Brewer through his  
increasingly foggy brain. A mass of...something attached to Fox's  
pineal body, the small gland located near the geometric center of  
the brain. Dana's white face and haunted, knowing eyes. She'd  
been shocked by the diagnosis, but not the disease. She and Walt  
had exchanged looks that hinted at a dark and terrible history.

Dana and Brewer had then launched into a technical exchange that,  
thanks to his own dark history, actually held some meaning. A  
white cell count of only 500, with a T4 count of only 150.  
Translation? A decimated immune system incapable of fighting off  
disease. Cause? The answer to that remained unknown, and  
accounted for Dana and Walt's absence.

He must have slid into a doze, because the gentle hand on his  
shoulder jolted through his body like an electric shock. His head  
snapped up and his gaze latched on to Elena's warm brown eyes.

"Sorry. I didn't realize you were sleeping," she said apologetically.

Grey rubbed both hands over his face. "I wasn't." He caught the  
amused twitch of her lips and grinned. "Well, I didn't *intend* to,  
anyway."

"My shift ended about a half an hour ago, but I hung around so that  
I could take care of Mulder's treatment," she explained as his eyes  
lit on the cart.

"That was nice of you," Grey replied, touched by her  
thoughtfulness. "Especially considering the fact that he won't  
exactly notice."

Elena shrugged. "You'd be surprised. Patients in that condition take  
in a lot more than we give them credit for. I figured it might help to  
have someone familiar administering the torture."

She caught Grey's stricken expression as she turned to her  
equipment, and lay a reassuring hand on his arm. "I'm sorry again.  
That joke was in poor taste. Believe me, this isn't that hard on  
him."

Grey accepted her words but moved toward the door. "I'll wait out  
in the hall."

He squeezed past another nurse, obviously on her way to help  
Elena, and propped himself up against the smooth cool wall with  
his eyes shut against the stark glare of fluorescent lights.

*Think about Kristen* he told himself sternly. *Or the ball game  
last week. Anything but what's going on in that room right now.*

It almost worked, until his brother's distressed cries penetrated the  
muted overtones of hospital activity and pulled him upright. He  
shuffled restless feet and chewed his lip as he listened to the quiet  
voices of the two nurses as they tried to comfort and calm. When  
he heard Fox call pitifully for Dana, something inside him broke,  
and he pushed his way back into the room.

Elena and the other nurse wrestled with a thrashing Fox, his eyes  
blank with fever and pain. Elena must have sensed Grey enter --  
she called over her shoulder without releasing her death grip on  
Fox's writhing body.

"Give us a hand, will you please, Mr. McKenzie? Your brother  
could use a familiar face right about now."

In three quick strides Grey reached the bed and insinuated himself  
into Fox's direct line of sight. Grasping his chin in gentle fingers,  
he turned his brother's face until their eyes linked.

"Fox, relax. It's all right. You're very sick and you're in the  
hospital. Stop struggling or you're going to hurt yourself."

He pitched his voice low and soothing, watching as wide, glassy  
eyes regained focus and bunched muscles relaxed.

"That's it, little brother," Grey murmured. "Just try to relax. Come  
on, let's get you settled."

Elena, who had hung back and allowed Grey to command Fox's  
full attention, moved carefully over to adjust the pillows as Grey  
helped his brother lie down. Grey saw Fox's eyes dart anxiously  
toward the nurse and then back to his own, searching for an  
explanation to ground his panic.

"That's Elena, she's been taking good care of you," Grey said,  
giving her a small smile though his own heart was still beating  
double-time.

"Trying to suck my guts out through my nose," his brother croaked  
feebly. "Call that good?"

Grey could almost feel his blood pressure lowering. If Fox could  
wield that wry sense of humor, he must be doing better. Elena gave  
the pillow one final tug and flashed a smile.

"You know the black market price for a liver in good condition?  
Can't blame a girl for trying," she said irreverently.

Fox stared at her, started to chuckle in surprised delight, then broke  
off into harsh, wet coughs. Elena immediately helped him sit up,  
grabbed an emesis bowl from the bedside table, and held it under  
his chin while thumping him firmly on the back.

"Come on, Mulder. I need to you get rid of all that poison and put  
me out of a job. Just try to let your body do the work."

Grey took one look and quickly turned his back, swallowing hard.  
When Fox's barks tapered off he turned around in time to see Elena  
wiping his brother's pale, sweaty face with a cloth and murmuring  
a string of soft encouragements. Fox lay bonelessly against the  
pillows, his brief surge of energy zapped by the ordeal.

"Did that on purpose," he said reproachfully, but one corner of his  
mouth turned up.

"You've found me out," she said, winking. "I'll resort to any and all  
means to achieve my objective." She traded the oxygen mask for a  
nasal cannula, slipping it gently around his head.

Mulder's smile widened just a bit. "First nurse I ever met with a  
sense of humor," he said. "Must be tough."

Elena rolled her eyes. "You have no idea, Mulder." She grasped  
the handle of her cart and rolled it toward the door, but paused in  
the doorway. " Just out of curiosity, exactly how many nurses have  
you met?"

Grey snorted and spoke up before his brother could answer. "You  
have no idea, Elena."

The bright tinkle of her laughter echoed down the hallway even  
after she shut the door.

Fox coughed lightly, then grimaced. "Horrible taste in my mouth,"  
he said. "Water?"

Mentally chastising himself for not offering, Grey poured a cup  
and tried to hold it so that his brother could sip from the straw.  
After Fox downed half the contents, he held up his hand and Grey  
set the cup aside. Though his eyelids were already drooping, Fox  
squinted at Grey.

"No offense, but isn't there something wrong with this picture? I  
mean, last I remember *you* were the one on this side of the  
bedrail. What's wrong with me? And how did I get here?"

Grey carefully repressed the urge to evade his brother's eyes and  
shuffle his feet. Fox was a profiler, and he'd catch on immediately  
if shown the slightest sign of falsehood. But there was no way he  
intended to explain the full scope of the illness -- as if he could.  
He'd just have to answer with the part he understood.

"You've got bacterial pneumonia," he said. "From what Dana tells  
me you collapsed in the lounge after leaving my room early this  
morning. Your fever was really high, but they've managed to  
knock it down a bit."

"Where's Scully?"

*Hmm. How to field that one without drawing suspicions?*

"She said she was going to follow up on some of your lab work,"  
Grey answered, sinking down into the chair. "I expect she'll be  
back soon."

He caught himself nibbling on his thumbnail -- an action Kate  
would have immediately recognized as a red flag that he was  
hiding something. Fortunately Fox's eyes were defying his  
attempts at gathering information, slipping shut and staying that  
way for increasing lengths of time.

"Get some sleep, little brother," Grey urged softly. "Dana will be  
here when you wake up."

"So tired," Fox mumbled, the words running together and blurring  
like watercolors on a child's painting. "Headhurts."

Grey opened his mouth to ask if he should hunt down the nurse  
when Fox's head slumped a little more to the right and his  
breathing evened. He watched his brother sleep until his own eyes  
began to mutiny and he could no longer stifle the jaw-cracking  
yawns. Scooting his chair closer to the bed, he folded his arms atop  
the soft mattress and used them to pillow his head. Within  
moments, his steady breathing joined his brother's.

Quantico  
Tuesday  
7:00 p.m.

Skinner paused in the doorway to the lab, taking the opportunity  
for a little surveillance. Scully sat on one of the tall stools, one foot  
propped on a rung and the other dangling several inches off the  
floor. A microscope occupied the space directly at her left elbow  
and several pages of data papered the countertop in front of her.  
Her auburn head, propped on her right fist, commenced a gradual  
slide downward, only to jerk sharply up again. Skinner observed  
the cycle repeat itself several times before loudly clearing his  
throat and stepping inside.

Scully's slumped posture abruptly snapped to attention and she  
pushed up the glasses that had worked their way to the tip of her  
nose.

"Sir," she said, as he took a seat beside her. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear  
you come in."

"Thought maybe you'd like a lift back to the hospital to check on  
Mulder," Skinner replied, taking in the bluish cast to the skin  
beneath her eyes. "Then I can drive you and Grey home to get  
some sleep."

Of course she protested immediately.

"I'd appreciate the ride to the hospital, sir, but I don't plan on  
leaving Mulder tonight. You should take Grey back to Mulder's  
place, though, he's still not fully recovered and he must be  
exhausted."

Skinner's eyebrows tilted downward and he clenched his jaw.  
"Please, Scully, don't pull a Mulder on me. I'd hate to have to make  
it an order."

He half expected an explosion. Scully in Mulderprotection mode  
had terrorized more than one hospital ER and he knew he had just  
bared his jugular -- so to speak. But she only raised one sculptured  
eyebrow and regarded him with a bemused expression.

"Pull a Mulder on you?"

"Yeah. You of all people should know what I'm talking about. I  
saw you trying to rein him in the last few days -- won't eat, won't  
sleep. All his resources focused on finding Grey at the expense of  
his own health. Is this starting to ring a bell, Agent Scully?" He  
deliberately accented his use of her title, pinning her eyes with his  
own.

Scully flushed. "Sir, he's so sick. If something were to happen  
and..."

Skinner held up a quelling hand. "Scully, he's stable. So far he  
hasn't even been aware enough to notice if you're there or not. But  
if it makes you feel any better, I'd be happy to sit with him while  
you grab a little nap."

Her eyes filled before she could stop it. Scully ducked her head  
and began scooping up the paperwork, blinking furiously. "I... I  
don't know what to say," she replied unsteadily. "I appreciate the  
gesture, but I know it's been a long day for you too, and..."

"You're forgetting that I actually slept last night," Skinner  
reminded her gently. "Do we have a deal?"

Scully's lips curved. "I didn't think I had a choice."

"I like to preserve the illusion," Skinner said dryly.

Scully actually chuckled at that. She finished stacking the reports  
in a neat pile and returned a small rack of test tubes to the  
refrigerator. Skinner handed her the papers, hesitating a moment  
before speaking.

"Any insights?"

She sighed heavily as she followed him out the door and they  
walked slowly down the deserted hallway. "Nothing of any  
consequence. I've been comparing Mulder's data with that of Dr.  
Sacks."

"Sacks -- the NASA scientist infected by the rock?"

"That's the one. Unfortunately most of the data on his illness  
disappeared at the time of his death. What I do have is sketchy at  
best." Scully reached up to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind  
her ear. "From what I can tell, the mass on the Mulder's pineal  
body is virtually the same as Sacks's. I just can't account for its  
presence."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning we know when Dr. Sacks was infected, and how. But  
Mulder..." She removed her glasses and slipped them into her  
pocket, then rubbed the indentations on the bridge of her nose. "I  
keep wracking my brain, trying to come up with a time when  
Mulder could have unwittingly come in contact with the oil.  
Nothing fits. It just doesn't make any sense."

"You said in your report that Sacks appeared to have  
immediately lapsed into a coma upon exposure," Skinner pointed  
out, frowning. "But we know that's not true of Mulder. Hell, we  
were standing right there when he collapsed! And what, if anything  
does this have to do with the pneumonia?"

Scully bit her lip. "The pneumonia is just a side effect of his  
depressed immune system. And it's my guess that the growth is  
somehow responsible. If that's true..."

Skinner looked at her sharply, then gazed quickly away when he  
realized she was struggling for composure.

"If that's true," she continued quietly, "then Mulder isn't going to  
get any better until we can remove the growth. And as of right  
now, I only know one way to achieve that."

When she didn't go on, Skinner pulled her up short with a hand on  
her arm. He gazed searchingly into her face, alarmed by what it  
revealed.

"Scully? What?"

Scully opened her mouth, then turned sharply and continued  
walking. She spoke a single word, tossed hurriedly behind her like  
an object that was too repulsive to retain possession.

"Death."

GUMC  
Wednesday  
7:52 a.m.

Skinner stripped off gloves, mask, and gown, wadding them up in  
a ball before shoving them into the trash can. As he left the  
anteroom, Scully's voice cut through the cotton in his sleep-  
deprived brain. Not yelling -- Scully rarely raised her voice -- but  
ferocious in intensity.

"I'm telling you that you don't understand what you're dealing  
with! You can't."

Dr. Brewer's voice, tight with control. "And you do? Because if  
you have some information that you haven't shared with me, Dr.  
Scully, I need to hear it right now. I don't have to tell you how  
precarious your partner's situation is at the moment."

Skinner turned the corner and nearly ran over Grey, leaning against  
the wall and glancing uneasily between Brewer and Scully. He  
showed his teeth in an expression intended to pass for a smile.

"Hey, Walt. Join the party."

Skinner raised both eyebrows, while Scully and Brewer visibly  
took a step back from their anger.

Scully pursed her lips and glanced down at her navy pumps. "I  
know you're doing the best you can with what you know," she said  
grudgingly. "I'll admit I don't have any answers myself. The only  
man I'm aware of that presented with a similar growth never  
regained consciousness."

Brewer's eyes narrowed. "He died?"

"Under...questionable circumstances," Scully replied. "We were  
unable to determine the cause of death."

Brewer threw up his hands and glanced beseechingly at the ceiling.  
"God save me from FBI agents -- as patients *or* next of kin," he  
added ruefully. Before Scully could take offense, he shook his  
head. "Look, I'm just a doctor. The mystery and intrigue in my life  
exist on a much more physical and mundane level. The fact of the  
matter remains that Mulder's white count has gradually declined  
over the last twenty-four hours. I may not know what that growth  
is, but it's obviously destroying his immune system one little piece  
at a time, and if we wait much longer he'll be too weak to  
withstand treatment. I've consulted with our head of oncology, and  
I don't make this recommendation lightly. I honestly see no  
alternative."

Skinner frowned. "Recommendation?"

Scully closed her eyes and pressed her fingers against her temples.  
"Chemotherapy." She looked at Brewer, her earlier fire quenched.  
"We've placed him in isolation and pinpointed the exact strain of  
pneumonia," she said pleadingly. "Can't we give him some time, a  
few days for the new antibiotic to kick in? If he can throw off the  
infection..."

"Dr. Scully... Dana," Brewer said, his tone that of a man calming a  
skittish colt. "You and I both know he's incapable of fighting off  
this infection. His immune system is practically non-functional.  
The growth is inoperable, and even if it weren't, surgery would be  
out of the question in his condition. The chemo is his only chance."

Skinner watched as Scully's entire body communicated her  
acquiescence, from the curve of her shoulders to a single bob of  
her head. His breath caught in his throat and from the corner of his  
eye he observed Grey turn to press his forehead and both hands  
against the wall.

Brewer sucked in a deep breath and slowly released it in a very  
undoctorly sigh. "I'll speak to Ramona Simons, our oncologist.  
She'll stop by to see Mulder later this morning. Would you like me  
to discuss this with him?"

Scully's reply was very soft. "No. I'll take care of it."

Brewer gave her arm a brief squeeze and nodded to Skinner and  
Grey before heading toward the elevators.

They remained like a collection of oddly placed statues -- Grey  
still pressed against the wall, Scully, head bowed and arms folded,  
and Skinner, both hands shoved deeply into his pockets. Grey  
turned his head to regard Skinner.

"How is he?"

Scully's head shot up and he could feel her hanging on his  
response. Skinner sifted through images of the long, sleepless  
night, not wishing to hide the truth but unwilling to further wound  
her fragile spirit.

"He's in and out," he said gravely. "His temperature spiked a  
couple of hours after you left, but they knocked it back down and  
since they hung the new antibiotic it's remained steady. He was  
delirious during that time, but he's been lucid otherwise. He just..."  
Skinner broke off, wishing he'd stopped while ahead.

"Just what?"

He grit his teeth. "He sleeps a lot. He's had a pretty bad headache  
and they're giving him a painkiller. But I don't think it really makes  
much difference. He's very weak, and even a few minutes of  
conversation wears him out."

Scully accepted his assessment stoically, though he couldn't help  
feeling he'd just multiplied her pain. She straightened her slumped  
posture and smoothed her jacket, assuming a more serene  
expression.

"I appreciate you staying with him, sir. I'm sure you're more than  
ready to catch up on your sleep. Grey and I can take over now."

Skinner lips formed a denial, but when a yawn nearly escaped in  
its place he was forced to concede the truth of her words. "I'll be  
back later this afternoon, after you've seen the oncologist," he  
promised.

Scully nodded listlessly. "Thank you."

Skinner watched her turn the corner, Grey's hand cupping her  
elbow. The resignation in her step alarmed him, as uncharacteristic  
as Mulder's complete lack of energy. Events were spiraling rapidly  
out of control, gaining momentum as they were pulled farther and  
farther from the center. He had the uneasy feeling he could glimpse  
the inevitable destination, and it was a very dark place.

Room 326  
Wednesday  
8:47 a.m.

Awakening occurred piecemeal, scattered and seemingly disjointed  
parts integrating and fusing to form the whole. Sound -- the soft  
rumbling of voices, the steady blip of machinery, and the rough  
susurration of his own respiration. Smell -- alcohol, disinfectants,  
and pure oxygen. Touch -- the slightly scratchy texture of  
chemically laundered sheets, the annoying pinch of the nasal  
cannula, and the relentless ache that reverberated through his skull.  
Taste -- the arid, sour sensation in his mouth that signaled fever  
and painkillers. The last puzzle piece, sight, came in the guise of  
two blue eyes rimmed with smile lines and weariness, peering at  
him from above a paper mask. Mulder blinked, his eyelids still  
heavy and sticky with sleep.

"Good morning, sunshine," Scully said, pleasure communicated in  
the lilt of her voice.

Mulder licked his lips, tongue attempting to soothe the parched  
flesh. "Hate that mask," he grumbled. "Suppose a good morning  
kiss is out of the question."

The laugh lines around her eyes deepened. "Always the  
crackerjack investigator, Mulder. Nothing gets past you." She saw  
him eyeing the cup of water and brought the straw to his lips.

Mulder tilted his head to capture the plastic tube, wincing when the  
motion doubled his vision and the pressure in his skull. Scully  
didn't comment, merely stroked the sweaty hair back from his  
forehead while he drank and removed the cup when empty. Only  
when he was once again reclining more comfortably against the  
stack of pillows did she venture to comment.

"I noticed on your chart that it's been four hours since your last  
shot. Do you want me to get the nurse?"

If he hadn't been feeling so lousy, Mulder might have grinned.  
They'd learned, he and Scully, how to phrase questions in order to  
glean productive answers. Queries that could be answered by the  
phrase "I'm fine" were strictly avoided.

"Not yet," he replied, studying what little he could see of her face.  
"We obviously need to talk, and it leaves me too fuzzy."

For the first time he noticed Grey standing near the foot of the bed,  
fidgeting with the paper gown and latex gloves. "Nice look," he  
said, the corners of his mouth turning up. "Not everyone can pull  
off tyvek and latex, but somehow you've managed."

Grey scratched his nose with his middle finger, provoking a  
chuckle, and then an extended bout of coughing. When Mulder  
finally leaned back, breath whistling noisily in his chest, he  
captured Scully's eyes with a demanding glare.

"I want you to be straight with me, Scully. This is more than just a  
bad case of pneumonia -- isn't it? I can feel it in my body, and I can  
see it in your eyes."

Scully sat down on the edge of the mattress and laced her fingers  
with his, wishing she could feel the silk of his skin. "You're right,  
Mulder, and you're wrong. You are suffering from pneumonia, but  
not any of the strains we might have expected. You have  
pneumocystosis, which is caused by an organism that occurs  
naturally in the lungs and isn't a pathogen in a healthy person. In  
the case of a severely depressed, immune system -- such as  
premature infants and cancer or AIDS patients -- it becomes  
opportunistic and causes infection." She paused, hating the clinical  
tone her voice took on as a defense mechanism.

Mulder frowned, nibbling on his lip as he processed her words,  
then his eyes widened. "Scully, I couldn't... I mean, you're not  
saying that I...I have AIDS?" The question, almost belligerent at its  
inception, ended in barely a whisper.

Scully squeezed his hand tightly and hastened to reassure him.  
"Mulder, no! No, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to give you that  
impression. They ran a routine test when you were admitted and it  
came up negative."

He visibly wilted, the relief palpable. "But... Then what *are* you  
saying, Scully? If my immune system is so out of whack, what's  
causing it?"

Scully forced herself to meet his gaze, to keep her voice steady, to  
hold back her tears -- in short, to avoid every instinctual response  
to his question. "Mulder, we found something during your CAT  
scan. A...a growth in your brain. But not just any growth, this is  
located on your pineal body. We've seen this before, Mulder."

Mulder's confusion melted into understanding, and then fear. "The  
NASA scientist? The rock?"

Scully nodded. "It's a...a nest of those black worms, Mulder, just  
like Dr. Sacks. But it doesn't make any sense! Dr. Sacks drilled  
into the rock, unwittingly exposing himself to the black oil. But  
you... Mulder, I've wracked my brain and I just can't come up with  
a plausible explanation for how those things could have gotten into  
your body! You've never..."

Mulder shuddered, pulling back from her as if burned. His  
breathing quickened to short, harsh puffs for air and his eyes  
turned so dark they appeared black.

"Mulder? Mulder, calm down. What is it?"

A nurse burst into the room, mask askew and eyes flitting from  
Mulder to Scully and Grey. "Is everything okay in here? Mr.  
Mulder's monitor just went a little crazy."

Mulder held up a pacifying hand, slowing his breathing with what  
appeared to be superhuman effort. "I'm all right, I'm all right. I  
just... Something startled me. I'm fine now."

She pinned him with a suspicious gaze, but the undeniable drop in  
bleeps from the heart monitor must have reassured her. "Take it  
easy then, Mr. Mulder, or I'll have to ask your visitors to leave.  
You can't afford stress right now."

Scully looked ready to spit nails at the nurse's insinuation, but  
Mulder hastily cut her off. "I promise. It won't happen again."

The door hadn't even swung shut before Grey beat Scully to the  
punch, planting a hand on either side of Mulder's feet and leaning  
over him like a cat ready to pounce. "You know, don't you? You  
*did* come in contact with this black oil that Dana told me about."

Mulder stared at him blankly for a moment, then turned stricken  
eyes to Scully. "I told you about my time in Tunguska, Scully.  
About the gulag, the beatings, and the roaches. About Krycek's  
betrayal and my escape. I even told you about the prisoners used as  
test subjects, injected with the experimental vaccine and then  
deliberately exposed to the oil. I just left out one detail." He sucked  
in a small gulp of air and fumbled to regain her hand. "I was one of  
those test subjects."

Scully flinched, evading his searching fingers and slipping off the  
bed. She walked woodenly over to the window and stared into the  
bright sunshine, keeping her back carefully turned toward Mulder  
and Grey. Mulder gazed miserably at the rebuffed extremity, then  
her stiff, distant posture.

"Scully? Say something."

Her words were ice-cold, smooth, and colorless. "What do you  
want me to say, Mulder? That I'm okay with this? That I'm not hurt  
by your little secret? By the fact that you've lied to me for the past  
three years?"

Mulder's soft plea sharpened. "I didn't lie."

Scully whirled to face him, her fury clearly evident. "You *did*  
lie, Mulder! A lie of omission that you perpetuated every time we  
discussed the black oil. All your talk about trust is really just lip  
service, isn't it? When it gets personal, you don't trust anyone.  
Never have, and never will."

"How can *you* presume to lecture *me*, Scully?" Mulder  
growled, pushing himself upright and shrugging off Grey's  
restraining arm. "How many nosebleeds did you hide with a quick  
trip to the bathroom? How many sleepless nights with another cup  
of coffee and a little more makeup? I kept this from you for all the  
same reasons you hid your cancer from me. I couldn't bear to see  
my pain reflected in your face. And I couldn't bring myself to  
admit it was real."

He folded back into the bed, absently rubbing his left arm and  
struggling to adjust the pillows. Scully remained frozen until Grey  
made a move to help, waving him off and gently guiding Mulder to  
a more comfortable position.

"Things are different between us now, Scully," Mulder sighed,  
voice thin with fatigue and thick with regret. "I knew I should tell  
you, but..."

Scully lay her finger across his lips, frustrated again by the latex  
barrier. "I know. You don't need my anger now, and I'm sorry for  
that. I... I didn't expect this, Mulder. But it makes a terrible sort of  
sense. That vaccine was still experimental. It imparted a resistance  
to the black oil, but perhaps that resistance is temporary. No doubt

the experiment appeared to be a success, until now."

A harsh gasp and a thud wrenched their focus from each other to  
Grey. He stood pressed against the wall, eyes shut and brow  
contracted.

"Grey?" Mulder asked, alarmed. "What's the matter?"

Scully stood, her plan to go to him sidetracked when Grey's eyes  
flew open and he motioned frantically for silence.

"Quiet! Let me think, let me think!"

Scully and Mulder exchanged baffled looks, unnerved by his odd  
behavior. Grey continued to ignore them completely, focusing  
inward and muttering to himself.

"The experiment appeared to be successful. The experiment  
appeared to be successful. Who said that? Somebody said that.  
Think, Grey, think!" He wove his fingers into his hair, tugging on  
it.

"And they call me Spooky," Mulder mumbled, shaking his head.  
"Looks like it's genetic."

At his words Grey went very still, his frenetic movements ceasing  
abruptly. He slowly turned his eyes on Mulder, mouth dropping  
open in shock.

"Oh, my God," he whispered raggedly. "I remember. I remember  
everything."


	3. Chapter 3

Room 326  
Wednesday  
9:43 a.m.  
  


"That's about it," Grey concluded quietly. "The things they did to  
me, the tests they ran, remain a blur. I know they drugged me with  
something each time, and I can remember pain..." He shuddered,  
an involuntary twitch of muscles. "But the conversation with  
Krycek is crystal clear. It didn't make sense at the time, but  
now..." 

Scully searched Mulder's face, his eyes flat, mouth compressed to  
a thin line. He let his eyelids slip closed to shutter himself from her  
compassionate gaze. 

"Yet another piece of my father's legacy," he said bitterly. "It's the  
gift that keeps on giving." 

"He did try to shield your family from this," Scully pointed out,  
looking at Grey. "We just have no way of knowing if he  
succeeded." 

"If they... If I do have this genetic factor like Fox, could it save  
him?" Grey asked, hope sparking in his eyes. 

"We don't know what this alleged genetic factor looks like, or its  
location," she said. "Add to that the very real possibility that you  
don't possess it, and the chances of success are very slim." She  
sucked in her bottom lip, fingers smoothing the wrinkles from  
Mulder's sheet. "I actually sent a sample of my own blood for  
analysis, hoping the lab could isolate antibodies from when I was  
infected with the virus. So far they've come up empty." 

Mulder's expression softened. "I appreciate the effort. But how do  
we even know this is the same? Sacks became comatose, my  
immune system is being destroyed, and you were apparently  
designated to serve as a human incubator. Those are three very  
different reactions. How does it all fit together?" 

"I'm not certain, but I have some ideas. Sacks could very well  
have been on his way to gestating one of the creatures you saw, we  
never had the time to determine the complete effects of the  
growth." She wrinkled her nose. "If you remember, I dropped into  
a comatose state myself." 

"Remember? I still have nightmares about it," Mulder muttered.  
"But *I* am not in a coma." 

"Perhaps due to this resistance that Krycek spoke of," Scully  
countered. "It could be weakened, but still partially functional.” 

"Why would the growth destroy my immune system?" 

"Think about it, Mulder. What's the body's natural response to an  
invader?" 

Mulder grimaced. "You mean the virus knocks out the host's  
immune system so that the organism can gestate." 

"Exactly. But in your case the organism stalled -- from vestiges of  
the Russian vaccine, genetic resistance, or some combination of  
the two." Scully shook her head. "I just wish I understood what  
triggered the relapse. Why now?" 

"Krycek said they were 'monitoring their investment,'" Grey said.  
"That would imply that even the creators don't completely  
understand what they've created." 

Mulder seemed to sink more deeply into the pillows, face pale and  
drawn. Seeing his brother's pained expression, Grey immediately  
regretted his choice of words. 

"Fox, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that the way it sounded." 

"Don't apologize for the truth," Mulder replied wearily. "Isn't that  
what I am? They've manipulated me my entire life, and now I find  
they engineered my conception. I can almost appreciate the humor  
in some unknown factor screwing up their little genetics  
experiment. Ole Smokey must be royally pissed." 

He coughed, then winced, pressing his knuckles hard against his  
forehead. "So what's next, Scully?" he asked, the words beginning  
to slur and his eyes drooping. "I can feel that I'm not getting better.  
Brewer must have some plan of attack. Is it time for that lobotomy  
you're always threatening?" 

Scully couldn't muster a smile. "The growth is inoperable, Mulder.  
Brewer wants to try chemotherapy." 

Mulder's face betrayed nothing. "When?" 

"As soon as possible. The oncologist will stop by today to talk with  
us." 

Mulder swallowed thickly. "Do you trust him?" 

"Brewer?" At Mulder's nod Scully continued. "Yes. I like him,  
Mulder, but I must admit your overdeveloped sense of paranoia  
has rubbed off on me. I called the Gunmen yesterday and had them  
check him out. He came up clean." 

"Wanted to know what you were feeling, Scully. Guess now I'll  
find out first hand," Mulder mumbled, shifting restlessly in search  
of a comfortable position. 

Scully's heart twisted at the mention of her cancer. "I never wanted  
you to know, love," she replied, running the pads of her gloved  
fingers gently up and down the soft skin on the underside of his  
arm. 

"Headache," Mulder sighed fretfully, but his eyelids fluttered. 

"Do you want me to get you something?" Scully asked, but she  
kept her voice low and her fingers continued their movement. 

"Mmm. 'S aspirin in the bathroom, behind the..." 

The words fell off into an unintelligible murmur, then ceased.  
Scully's lips turned up even as she blinked back tears. She slipped  
off the bed and tucked Mulder's arm beneath the sheet, stroking the  
spot on his cheek she could not kiss. When she turned to look for  
Grey, she was surprised to find he had left. 

Once outside Mulder's room she efficiently stripped off gown and  
gloves and stepped into the hallway. Her eyes swept the length of  
the corridor without locating him, increasing her bewilderment. A  
tap on her shoulder caused her to release the breath she'd  
unconsciously been holding, a wry smile on her face. 

"I wondered where you... Oh, Elena! Sorry, I thought you were  
someone else." 

"How's our patient? I just came on shift and I haven't been in to see  
him yet." Elena's intent expression attested to genuine concern. 

"He's hanging in there. The new antibiotic has kept the fever down,  
but his white count keeps dropping." Scully chewed her lip. "Dr.  
Brewer is recommending chemotherapy for the tumor." 

Elena tugged on the ends of her stethoscope. "How did Mulder  
take the news?" 

Scully shrugged. "He took it. Mulder has been through a lot in his  
life. He's mastered the art of rolling with the punches." 

"And how about you? Are you rolling too?" 

Scully released a short puff of air. "I'm trying. I nearly died of  
cancer a couple of years ago. This brings it all back as if it were  
yesterday." 

Elena lay a sympathetic hand on her arm. "I'm sorry, this must be  
very difficult for you. I guess that also explains why Mr.  
McKenzie looked so upset." 

"Grey? You saw him?" 

Elena raised her eyebrows. "Well, yes. He came out of Mulder's  
room about two minutes before you did, looking pretty raw. He  
wanted to know if there was someplace he could get some fresh  
air, so I sent him to the terrace on the fourth floor." 

Scully nodded, giving Elena's hand a quick squeeze before pulling  
away. "Thanks. I'd better go check on him. Mulder's out like a light  
right now, but he's overdue for pain meds and might not last." 

"I'll keep an eye on him," Elena assured her. 

Weaving down corridors now bustling with nurses, patients, and  
equipment, Scully's body functioned on autopilot while her mind  
seethed with conflicting thoughts and emotions. She felt stretched  
to the breaking point, caught between the purely emotional desire  
to remain at Mulder's side, the intellectual drive to be part of the  
efforts to find a cure, and her craving for revenge against the  
cigarette smoking devil at the center of this nightmare. At the  
center of every nightmare. 

Scully slowed as she stepped out onto the terrace, belatedly  
realizing that her coat still hung on the hooks outside Mulder's  
room. She burrowed her hands into the pockets of her jacket,  
hunching her shoulders a bit against the chill wind. The solitary  
figure leaning over the brick wall reminded her so strongly of  
Mulder she felt a physical ache somewhere between her head and  
her heart. 

"Hey," she said quietly, propping her elbows on the concrete and  
mirroring his posture. 

"Tracked me down, huh, Agent Scully?" Grey said with forced  
levity. 

"I'm sure Mulder's told you that he never ditches me for long,"  
Scully replied. 

Grey feigned a grimace. "Ouch. The infamous ditch. Never  
thought I'd be guilty of that." 

Scully eyed him appraisingly. "It's your first offense. I suppose I  
can let it slide if you come clean with what's bothering you. Aside  
from the obvious, of course." 

Grey scrubbed his face with his hands. "Dana..." 

"It's Kate, isn't it?" 

He abruptly dropped his hands and pinned her with a sharp stare.  
"What?" 

"Look, ever since Brewer showed me that CAT scan I've been  
plagued with flashbacks of my own cancer, and hearing the word  
chemotherapy this morning only made things worse. It's only  
natural all of this would remind you of Kate's illness." 

Grey flinched and spun so that she was left with a view of his rigid  
back, one hand clamped on the wall in a white knuckled grip and  
the other fisted at his side. Scully reached out tentatively to lay her  
hand on his back, feeling the muscles spasm under her palm.  
Moving cautiously around him, her fingers trailing across his  
shoulders, she was startled to see his face screwed up in anguish,  
tears flowing freely down his cheeks. 

Her reaction instinctual, she reached up to cup her hand behind his  
neck and tugged. After token resistance, Grey allowed her to draw  
his head down to her shoulder, mutely accepting the comfort.  
Scully rubbed soothing circles at the nape of his neck, the surreal  
feeling of holding Mulder's brother in her arms eclipsed by the  
shock of his broken sobs. She abruptly recognized that in all the  
time she'd known Grey, though she'd witnessed him on the brink of  
tears, she'd never actually seen him cry. That epiphany made his  
current breakdown all the more significant -and heart rending. 

He recovered swiftly, pulling back from Scully's embrace and  
swiping the moisture from his face with the sleeve of his shirt.  
Scully let him go, allowing him the space to reapply a veneer of  
calm. They were both shivering by this point, so she steered Grey  
back inside and around the corner to a small waiting area. He  
watched her settle into one of the chairs, but chose to pace instead. 

"I'm sorry, Dana," he said gruffly. "You've got enough of your own  
burdens right now without me going to pieces on you." 

"Don't apologize," she replied softly. "I'd hope you would do the  
same for me. I don't doubt I'll be losing a few pieces mysef over  
the next few days." 

One corner of Grey's mouth struggled to curve, then gave up.  
When Scully silently continued to watch his frenetic movements,  
he threw himself into a chair and clasped his hands tightly between  
his knees. 

"I don't think I can do this again." 

Scully said nothing, merely gazed at his stricken face with  
compassion. The fact that she didn't respond, either by berating or  
persuading, seemed to frustrate Grey. 

"Did you hear what I said? I don't think I can go through this again,  
that I can face what's coming! I love him. God, Dana, you can't  
imagine how much I love him, but I don't think I can be there for  
him this time. Not the way I want to be. Not the way he needs me  
to be." 

"Because of Kate." 

"YES! Don't you see? I look at him in that hospital bed, how weak  
and pale and sick he is, and I know it's going to get so much worse.  
They'll give him the chemo to make him better, but it will eat him  
alive until there's nothing left -- no trace of Fox." Grey's voice  
cracked. "Instead of the brother who whips my sorry butt at  
basketball, writes maudlin poetry when he's had too many beers,  
and reverts to a 10-year-old every time he steps into an arcade,  
there'll be this...this shell that pukes its guts out, loses its hair, and  
can't remember her own name let alone what happened an hour  
ago." 

Grey slammed his eyes shut against a fresh deluge of tears, jerking  
when Scully placed her hand atop his. His use of the feminine  
pronoun had not been lost on her, and she fumbled for a response. 

"You can do this, Grey, if you do it for the right person." 

He yanked his hands from her touch. "What do you mean?" 

"You may be looking at Mulder, but you're seeing Kate. Unless  
you can accept that it's your brother in that bed and not some  
reincarnation of your dead wife, you're better off walking out of  
this hospital right now." Scully tempered her tone, removing the  
edge that had crept into her voice. "Mulder needs your hope. If you  
can't give it, I'll understand, but I sure as hell won't let you give  
him your defeat." 

Grey searched her face, then nodded. "I'm sorry." 

Scully stood up, rolling her shoulders to loosen the coiled muscles.  
"I'm going back. I want to be there when the oncologist shows up.  
Are you coming?" 

He ducked his head. "Yeah. You go ahead, I just need a minute." 

Scully took two steps, then paused. "Make no mistake about it,  
Grey. I don't intend to lose him, not now. He's pulled off more than  
one miracle to save me, and I figure I owe him that much. And just  
for the record? I don't have to imagine how much. I know." 

Grey was still mentally backtracking their conversation, attempting  
to pinpoint the trigger for her last statement, when she stepped into  
the elevator. Scully slumped against the wall, staring blankly at the  
floor indicator, wondering if Mulder was still sleeping, and  
wishing desperately for a decent cup of coffee. Her mind thus  
occupied, she exited the elevator and rounded the corner,  
progressing several feet before the acrid odor of cigarette smoke  
pulled her up short. 

Lifting her head with exaggerated care, Scully looked over her  
shoulder to see her version of the devil incarnate standing on the  
other side of the hallway. When she made eye contact he inclined  
his head, pulling out a pack of Morleys and tapping it to extract  
one. 

"Agent Scully." 

If she had been a cartoon character, Scully's face would have  
turned fire engine red while twin jets of steam erupted from her  
ears. Instead, every muscle in her body tightened like a bow string  
and she grit her teeth so hard her jaw ached. Dodging an orderly  
pushing an empty gurney, she stalked across the open space and  
boldly removed the cigarette from his nicotine stained fingers. 

"Smoking is prohibited in this area," she hissed, breaking the stick  
in half and stuffing it into his pocket. "Why don't you find  
someplace else to indulge in your nasty little habit?" 

Ever unflappable, he smiled serenely. "Really, Agent Scully, I  
should think you'd be happy to see me. After all, I just may have  
the answers you're seeking." 

"You don't have anything I want or need, you bastard! Grey  
remembered!" 

She felt a sliver of satisfaction when the reptilian eyes betrayed  
their owner for an instant, revealing surprise and chagrin. Hooded  
once more, they regarded Scully with cool appreciation as CSM  
calmly removed another cigarette from the pack. 

"Then you must realize the gravity of Agent Mulder's situation and  
appreciate the assistance I can provide." 

"He's had more than enough assistance from you," Scully growled.  
"You've misled and betrayed him at every opportunity. Do you  
honestly think I could ever trust you for a cure? There is no truth in  
you!" 

Cancerman deliberately paused to light the cigarette and suck in a  
long draught. He expelled the smoke and pursed his lips. 

"You misunderstand me. I only claim to have the answers, not the  
cure. Don't underestimate your own importance in the grand  
scheme of things. The truth, Agent Scully, lies within *you*."  
  
  


GUMC  
Wednesday  
10:28 a.m.  
  


"What exactly are you trying to say?" Scully demanded. 

Spender's reply was cut short as a hand wrapped around his lapel  
and slammed him up against the wall with an audible thump. 

"How about we try a little role reversal, you son of a bitch," Grey  
snarled, thrusting his face into Spender's and pressing his gun  
under the man's chin. "How's the view from that side of the  
barrel?" 

"I've already played this game with your brother," Spender said  
calmly. "We both know you aren't going to shoot, so you might as  
well take your hands off me." 

The metallic snick of Grey's finger cocking the gun removed the  
complacency from CSM's face and added a wolfish grin to Grey's. 

"How sure are you about that?" 

"Grey. Back off." Scully's steely command pierced the red haze of  
anger and Grey reluctantly relaxed his grip and retreated, his finger  
still loosely curled around the trigger. Scully nodded reassuringly  
to several wide-eyed nurses, then turned her cool gaze back on  
Spender. 

"Answer the question." 

"I believe you already know the answer," he replied, taking another  
puff of the cigarette he'd miraculously retained during the scuffle  
with Grey. "You've had your people working on a sample of your  
own blood, have you not?" 

Scully pressed her lips so tightly together they appeared bloodless.  
"How did you know that?" 

Spender flicked his hand impatiently at her as if dispelling a  
particularly bothersome insect. "Must you persist in pursuing the  
wrong answers? I know it the same way I know everything about  
you and Mulder. I'd venture to say I knew about the evolution in  
your relationship before you did." 

Scully clenched her fists, the nails leaving bloody crescents  
inscribed in her palm. "Get to the point." 

"The point, Agent Scully, is that *you* are the only one who can  
save Mulder. Without a serum made from the antibodies found in  
your blood, Mulder's health will continue to decline at an  
increasing rate." 

Scully folder her arms. "The chemotherapy..." 

"The chemotherapy will kill him. You cannot allow it!" Spender  
snapped. He quickly masked his agitation with another puff of  
smoke. "Exposure to a toxic chemical damaged his genetic  
immunity and triggered his illness. There's no telling what harm a  
similar exposure might cause." 

"What toxic chemicals?" Grey demanded skeptically, but Scully  
paled. 

"The mushroom," she murmured. "The trouble began right after we  
came in contact with that goo. Mulder had barely recovered from  
the injuries Cole inflicted when we took that crazy case. We  
wound up in quarantine, and Mulder got sick right after that. It was  
just the flu, but..." 

"We've yet to determine just how the chemicals impaired  
Mulder's resistance to the virus," Spender said. "At present, that  
knowledge is subordinate to restoring his health." 

"What would *you* care about Fox's health?" Grey sneered. 

"I think I already answered that question," Cancerman replied  
calmly. "We have 38 years invested in this project." 

In the blink of an eye Grey had him slammed up against the wall  
again. "That *project* is my brother." 

Spender brushed off the offending hands. "Obviously," he said  
dryly. 

Scully nudged Grey aside, glaring at Spender. "Are you saying you  
know how to formulate the serum?" 

"We possess the knowledge and the equipment." Spender's lip  
curled. "All we lack are the raw materials." 

Scully stared at him, her mind working furiously. "So if I give you  
a blood sample..." 

Spender shook his head, a deceptively benign smile still on his  
face. "Oh no, Agent Scully. A single sample of blood would never  
be enough. We could require additional blood or tissue samples at  
a moment's notice, and time is of the essence." 

Scully's face drained of animation. "What are you saying?" 

He dropped his cigarette and crushed it into the pristine tile,  
leaving an ugly streak of ash. "Once again, I think you know the  
answer." 

Scully struggled to convey outrage, to utter her words with  
revulsion and contempt. What emerged, however, was tremulous  
disbelief. 

"You expect me to just go with you, to willingly place myself into  
your hands and at your mercy? How do I know you won't seize the  
opportunity to do other tests?" 

Spender looked at her steadily, with pity. "The very nature of a  
bargain dictates that both parties must obtain something of value.  
Surely you didn't think I'd extend this offer out of some misguided  
affection for Mulder?" 

"NO!" Grey snapped. "Dana, you can't!" He turned to Spender.  
"Let me." 

Spender silenced Scully's protest. "Even if I hadn't already  
obtained what I needed from you, it wouldn't be an option.  
Evidently Bill's ploy to shield you from the project was successful.  
You don't possess the required genotype." 

He capitalized on the impact of the revelation, moving past both  
Grey and Scully while they scrambled to process the news. Several  
paces down the hallway he paused, glancing casually over his  
shoulder. 

"You have until this afternoon to think it over, Agent Scully. I'll be  
in touch." 

Scully arrested Grey's pursuit with an iron grip on his sleeve.  
"Where do you think you're going?" 

"I'm going to tail him, find out exactly where he's going and what  
he's up to," Grey snapped impatiently. 

"No." 

Both eyebrows disappeared in his hair and he tilted his head  
forward. "What?" 

"I said, NO. You've nothing to gain at this point and everything to  
lose. I can't waste energy worrying whether you've rushed  
headlong into trouble." Scully released his sleeve and resumed  
walking toward Mulder's room, doing an amazing impression of a  
woman who had not just been offered a pact with the devil. 

Grey stared after her, his mouth agape, before jogging to catch up.  
"You can't possibly be considering this! Do you think I haven't  
been paying attention? That man is responsible for your abduction,  
your cancer..." 

"And quite possibly my cure," Scully said stiffly. 

"He has *no* conscience, Dana! His only objective is to further his  
own agenda! Do you honestly think he's just going to hand you a  
magic cure for Fox? Are you actually that na�e?" 

"No. Just that desperate." 

The quiet suffering in her tone constricted his throat, but Grey  
refused to give in. Darting in front of her to block her path, he  
planted his hands on his hips and groped for something, anything,  
to make her see reason. 

"You can't deal with the devil. That bastard represents everything  
you've sworn to oppose. Do you know what this will do to Fox?" 

Scully's expression transformed from resigned to ferocious before  
the words left his lips. "He's to know NOTHING of this, do you  
hear me? If you breathe one word of what just occurred, you'll find  
out first hand how Mulder got that scar on his shoulder! Swear to  
me, Grey. Promise that you won't tell him, no matter what  
happens." 

Grey's brow contracted and he stubbornly thrust out his lower lip.  
"You presume to make this decision for him," he said. "A decision  
that affects him just as deeply as it affects you. You know what  
he'd say, Dana. He'd never allow you to risk your life for his." 

"MY life. MY choice," Scully said softly, firmly. 

"And if that choice results in him living to a ripe old age -- alone?  
You were raised Catholic. 'What does a man profit if he gains the  
whole world, but loses his soul?' You *are* his soul, Dana. You  
*know* that." 

Scully smiled at the tremor in his voice, laying her hand on his  
cheek. "How about 'Greater love has no one than this, that he lay  
down his life for his friend.' Her partner. His brother -- or did I  
misunderstand your counteroffer to Spender?" 

Tears glistened in Grey's eyes, but he didn't pull away. "No. You  
didn't. You're really going to go through with this, aren't you?" 

Scully dropped her hand, nodding. "I've been given the rare and  
unenviable opportunity to experience this from both sides. I  
thought I understood Mulder's pain during my illness, but I only  
scratched the surface. For the loved ones, the true horror of the  
disease is the helplessness. You've been here before, Grey. You of  
all people must understand that I have to do this." 

Grey wove his fingers into his hair and tugged in frustration, but  
Scully could see he was weakening. "There *must* be another  
way." 

"There isn't. Brewer said that the chemo was Mulder's only option,  
and now that's out of the question." 

"How do you know that Cancerman isn't lying about the chemo  
just to get you to go along with this insane plan?" 

"Do you really want to take the chance?" Scully slowly shook her  
head. "I've had a bad feeling about the chemo ever since Brewer  
mentioned it. I don't trust Spender, but what he said about the  
chemicals makes sense." 

Grey cocked an eyebrow. "You've had a bad feeling? If only Fox  
were able to hear that!" 

Scully's tension eased and she managed a slight smile. "And ruin  
my reputation as upholder of strict logic?" She sobered. "I need to  
know you support me, Grey. I want your word that you won't tell  
Mulder about this." 

Grey hesitated, then held out both hands, palms up, in a gesture of  
defeat. "I promise." 

Scully closed her eyes and blew out a long gust of air. "Thanks." 

"Don't thank me. Just make sure you come back in one piece, or  
Fox will never forgive me." 

Grey's tone was light, but Scully recognized the truth in his words.  
A small line of determination appeared between her brows. "I will.  
I promise."  
  


GUMC  
Wednesday  
11:26 a.m. 

Fortified by a cup of coffee, Scully put on her game face and  
prepared to confront Mulder and the oncologist. Grey had  
appropriated her cell phone and stepped outside the hospital, to call  
Kristen and to regain some equilibrium. Scully buried her own  
churning emotions deeply beneath several layers of her legendary  
reserve. Mulder, sick as he was, possessed incredibly sensitive  
radar when it came to something troubling her. In order to conceal  
her true reasons for him not to undergo the chemotherapy, she  
couldn't allow him to detect her sorrow and fear. 

She shook free of her contemplation, attention captured by the  
buzz of activity around a room near the nurses' station. The  
realization that the room belonged to Mulder caused her stomach  
to lurch and her footsteps to quicken. 

Scully snatched a gown, peering into Mulder's room through the  
window. Brewer and two nurses were clustered around the bed,  
obliterating Mulder from view. In her haste, her arm tangled in the  
sleeve, ripping the flimsy material and provoking a string of  
colorful expletives. A strong hand gripped her elbow and propelled  
her to the side, struggling until she recognized Elena's warm brown  
eyes. 

"Dana, take it easy. He's stable," she said, tugging off the mask and  
depositing it into the trash can. 

"What happened? What do you mean, 'he's stable?'" Scully said,  
craning her neck to see into the room. "I've only been gone a little  
over an hour!" 

"I went to perform his respiratory therapy a little while after I saw  
you, and I couldn't wake him," Elena explained. 

"Couldn't wake him? Are you sure he wasn't just sleeping soundly?  
We'd had a pretty emotional discussion and he was worn out." 

"Dana, he was completely unresponsive," Elena said patiently. "It  
wasn't hard to figure out why -- he was burning up." 

Scully licked her lips, forcing down the panic that tried to rise and  
burst open like bubbles from a shaken soda. "The fever is back?" 

Elena nodded. "It must have spiked very suddenly, because it had  
already reached 104.9 when I took it. Fortunately, Dr. Brewer was  
nearby and we got Mulder under a cooling blanket before he could  
seize on us." 

Scully swallowed, her throat emitting a dry click. "Thank God." 

Dr. Brewer exited Mulder's room, followed by the two nurses. He  
pulled down the mask and reached back to massage tight muscles  
at the base of his neck. 

"How is he?" Scully asked. 

Brewer yanked off the gown and balled it up, revealing a riotous  
mass of color that served as his tie. "We've knocked the fever  
down a degree and its holding steady. I'm leaving him under the  
cooling blanket for now. He's semi- conscious and pretty  
delusional, but that's no surprise." He ran his thumb back and forth  
over his lower lip before speaking. "I'm calling off the chemo. We  
can't initiate any kind of offensive action until we're certain he's  
stabilized." 

Scully's eyes left Brewer's to study the frail figure behind the glass.  
"Can I go in?" 

"Don't see why not. We'll be keeping a close eye on him. I'll  
change antibiotics if I have to, but I'd rather wait until he's had at  
least twenty-four hours on this one. I won't pretend this isn't a  
serious setback, Dr. Scully, but we'll do what we can for the fever  
and hope for an eventual chance with the chemo. I'll stop back in a  
bit to see how he's coming along." 

Scully picked up a mask and busied herself with fastening it  
around her head, unwilling to meet his compassionate gaze.  
"Thank you. I appreciate your honesty." 

Mulder lay curled on his right side, shivering in spite of the heat  
that seared through Scully's glove when her fingers brushed his  
cheek. Her touch roused him enough to open glassy eyes. 

"Hey," she said softly. "How are you doing?" 

"'S cold," he mumbled, trying to burrow further into the mattress.  
"Gotta save Scully. Haveta get to the snowcat or we'll freeze." 

Scully sucked in a sharp breath. For a moment she was surrounded  
by a glittering white expanse, the bite of ice beneath her legs and  
Mulder's warmth cradled to her chest. Considering the cooling  
blanket and his sterile surroundings, it was little wonder Mulder  
hallucinated that they were back in Antarctica. 

Scully smoothed a damp lock of hair from his brow. "Mulder, it's  
Scully. You're in the hospital, remember?" 

"Head hurts an' I'm so cold but I can't stop, can't stop," Mulder  
muttered as if she'd never spoken. "Gotta save Scully 'cause it's my  
fault, all my fault those bastards took her. Took my beautiful  
Scully an' tried to put one of those...those things inside of her.  
Didn't want to look, to see that tube down her throat an' green  
gooey stuff an' what if that shot didn't work an' it's still inside of  
her. Whaddo I do then? Haveta find help soon, haveta get out of  
here..." 

Scully bit her lip, willing back tears as the litany of barely coherent  
words continued. "You did get me out of there, love," she soothed,  
caressing his cheek. "You saved me and brought me home. I would  
have died, but for you." 

No wonder Brewer had commented on Mulder's mental state. To  
others, his ramblings must sound incredibly bizarre and lacking  
any tether to reality. She continued to speak softly, repeating that  
they were safe and in a hospital. That he was very sick, but would  
be better soon. That she loved him and would take care of him.  
Mulder quieted at the sound of her voice and after a little while  
seemed to come back to himself. 

"Scully?" he asked as if seeing her for the first time. 

"I'm here, love." 

"Dreamed about when they took you away from me," he replied  
sleepily, his fingers threading with hers as his eyelids drifted to  
half-mast. "Took you away to the big ship and I almost lost you." 

"Just a dream, Mulder. I'm right here," Scully replied, her voice  
thick with impotent tears. "You sleep now, okay?" 

Mulder sighed and allowed his eyes to close, voice barely audible  
as he slid into slumber. "Can't let that ever happen again, babe.  
Couldn't take it." 

Scully laid down her head and wept bitterly.  
  


Room 326  
Wednesday  
4:25 p.m.  
  


The antibiotic wasn't working. Mulder's temperature hovered at  
104.2 degrees, not rising but not dropping either. He'd barely  
noticed when Elena performed his afternoon therapy, only  
moaning weakly through the worst discomfort, and despite her best  
efforts, his breathing had deteriorated to a laborious rattling.  
Brewer didn't attempt to disguise his concern, prescribing a change  
in antibiotic and swapping the nasal cannula for a full oxygen  
mask. 

Scully held his hand, soothing him with gentle words and touches  
when he became restless and lapsed into delirium. She strove to  
maintain an outward appearance of calm as she felt herself  
inwardly splintering. Her emotions swung wildly back and forth,  
as one minute she dreaded the smoker's call and the next she  
awaited it with impatience. As Mulder's condition continued its  
downward slide, the latter took hold and she could barely restrain  
herself from pacing. 

Grey lingered at the edges of Mulder's room, deferring to Scully  
when Mulder thrashed and cried out in his sleep, watching with  
haunted eyes. His difficulty coping with Mulder's sickness both  
touched and irritated her. She ached for him, for unavoidable  
memories of his dying wife. But his passivity only added to her  
own burden, and she found herself fretting over Grey's ability to  
step into her shoes when she was gone. 

Elena opened Mulder's door a crack to pop her head into the room.  
"Dana? You have a call. You can take it at the nurses' station." 

She knew it was him. The knowledge thrummed through her entire  
body and she could feel every hair stand on end. Suddenly, her  
fingers fused with Mulder's and she couldn't seem to make them let  
go. She stood slowly, and after an instant's hesitation threw  
procedure to the wind and yanked down her mask. The heat from  
his brow singed her lips, but it was the sweetness of feeling his  
skin against her own that brought tears to her eyes. 

"You hang in there, love," she murmured, pressing a second kiss to  
his cheek. "I'll be extremely pissed off if I put my neck on the  
block for nothing." 

Scully pulled away -- a simple manipulation of muscles and bones,  
but deep inside she felt a bright agony, as something ripped  
asunder. Pausing with one palm pressed to the door she  
purposefully met Grey's bleak stare, then quickly pushed through  
the barrier without looking back. 

Her hands trembled as she rid herself of gown, gloves, and mask  
and then walked briskly to the indicated phone. 

"Scully." 

"Agent Scully. Have you decided to accept my offer?" 

Scully's lips twisted. "I think you already know the answer to that  
question," she parroted sarcastically. 

Dark amusement in puffs of air -- antithesis of a laugh. "Good.  
Take the elevator all the way down to the parking garage. Someone  
will meet you there." 

The line clicked before she could formulate a reply. Scully  
replaced the receiver in its cradle and turned, the large bulk  
looming behind her wrenching a gasp from her throat before she  
identified Grey. 

"Don't *do* that! You nearly gave me a heart attack!" she snapped,  
eyebrows plunging in annoyance. 

Grey stepped back, holding up his hands. "Sorry. Thought you  
heard me follow you out. Can I assume that was him?" 

Scully nodded, started to elaborate, then thought better of it. "I  
have to go," she said, brushing past him to head for the elevators. 

Grey caught her arm, arresting her forward motion. "Dana, wait.  
Just... just hold on a minute." 

Her own nervousness, combined with Grey's interference and  
being physically restrained, ignited her anger and she shook off his  
grip a little more forcefully than necessary. 

"Why? For what purpose? We've said all that needs to be said,  
Grey. I've made up my mind, and I have to go. You gave me your  
word." 

Grey paced in a tight circle, rubbing his hands together. "That was  
before I watched you kiss my brother goodbye as if you were never  
going to see him again." 

Scully averted her eyes, unable to refute his observation. "I will  
*not* let him go without a fight. Please don't make this any harder  
than it already is." 

"I don't want... I just..." Grey swore softly under his breath and  
grasped her again, this time enfolding her in a tight embrace. 

Scully indulged herself, drawing in his warmth and security to  
dispel the icy vacuum created by Spender's voice. All too soon, she  
disentangled herself from his arms, blinking rapidly. 

"Take care of him. He needs to know you're with him, not hiding  
somewhere across the room. You have to keep him fighting until I  
can get back." 

"I will." Voice firm, but rich with emotion. 

Scully walked to the elevators and punched the button. She could  
sense Grey watching her, his solitary figure imprinted in the  
periphery of her vision, but she resolutely stared straight ahead  
until the doors parted and allowed her admittance. She stood stiffly  
in the back of the car, avoiding eye contact with the elderly couple  
bickering good-naturedly and an executive type fiddling with his  
pager. By the time the car reached the basement she remained its  
sole occupant, her footsteps echoing hollowly as she disembarked. 

"Need a lift?" 

She froze, not really surprised to recognize the voice. Turning  
slowly, she spotted a leather-clad figure lounging against a cement  
pillar painted in shadows due to a broken light fixture. As always,  
Scully was struck by the dichotomy of the man -- the face of  
innocence camouflaging the soul of a killer. She moved closer,  
allowing the darkness to embrace her as well. 

"I guess this answers the question of who's currently holding your  
leash, huh, Krycek?" 

If her barb rankled, Krycek didn't show it. "Yeah, well, you know  
what they say about appearances," he replied breezily. He shoved  
himself upright and stepped into her personal space. "You armed?" 

"No. I knew he'd never let me hang on to it, and there's a mountain  
of paperwork for a lost weapon. Besides, Mulder loses enough  
guns for both of us." 

Krycek smirked but his eyes were cold. "You realize I'm going to  
have to verify that." 

Scully grit her teeth and extended her arms, staring at a crack in the  
pillar that resembled a seagull while Krycek frisked her. To his  
credit and her relief, he kept the act businesslike. When satisfied,  
he inclined his head toward the south end of the garage. 

"That way." 

Scully strode in the direction indicated, head high, back ramrod  
straight, and mouth as dry as week-old bread. She felt vulnerable,  
exposed, the back of her neck prickling and her senses hyper-  
attuned. The acrid odor of exhaust fumes. The distant screech of  
rubber on concrete. The cool, damp air clinging to her like a  
second skin. And Krycek, trailing cat-like behind her on  
assassin's feet. 

"Right here." 

Scully stopped beside a charcoal panel van, waiting until Krycek  
unlocked the sliding door and waved her inside. The blood  
pounded in her ears as she crawled into the murky interior,  
scooting over as Krycek followed. As she pressed tightly against  
the cool steel wall, Krycek shut the door and flicked on the dome  
light. The interior transformed into the eerie bright and dark of a  
haunted house, his face the mask of a phantom. He fumbled in the  
pocket of his jacket and extracted a capped syringe of clear fluid.  
Scully's stomach plunged to her toes. 

"What's that?" She hated the sound of her own voice, high and  
reedy with panic. 

"I thought you were a doctor," Krycek replied snidely. "What do  
you think? You didn't really expect me to drive there with you  
enjoying the scenery, did you?" 

"No drugs. Tie me up, blindfold me -- I don't care." 

Krycek actually seemed to take pity on her, his poker face  
softening. "Scully, this is non-negotiable. He made it very clear to  
me that I should take no chances, as well as the repercussions if I  
screw this up. Even tied you can get a feel for how far we've  
driven. You have to be knocked out, or the deal's off." 

Scully worried her lip between her teeth. "Okay. Just...give me a  
minute." 

She closed her eyes, slowing rapid breathing and centering herself.  
She conjured up images of Mulder -- flushed and sweaty after a  
long run, face animated and hands gesticulating wildly over a new  
case, eyes dark and heavy lidded with desire. Before the warmth in  
her breast could cool, she brutally superimposed the memory of  
just ten minutes earlier --ashen, thin, and burning with fever.  
Opening her eyes, she regarded Krycek calmly and held out her  
hand. 

"Here, let me do it. At least I won't leave a bruise."  
  


Room 326  
Wednesday  
6:33 p.m.  
  


When Grey noticed Skinner hovering at the window, he caught his  
eyes and held up one finger. Fox, cycling back and forth between  
extreme delirium and quiescence, currently exhibited the latter.  
Grey wasn't certain which was worse -- the piteous sight of his  
brother reenacting traumas in his dreams, or sleeping so deeply  
that only his arduous gasps for air indicated life. He slipped his  
brother's hand from his and tucked it under the sheet, then stood  
and reached both hands high above his head in an attempt to loosen  
stiff muscles. 

Skinner held the door for him as he stepped out and solemnly  
watched him shed the sterile gear before pouncing. 

"What's going on? Where's Scully?" 

Grey finger combed hair damp and curly with sweat. "Hello to you  
too, Walt." When Skinner remained unamused, he sighed. "What  
makes you think something is wrong?" 

"She isn't at her place, Mulder's or the bureau, and although her car  
is in the lot no one here seems to be able to locate her either," he  
growled. "Now, there could be a reasonable enough explanation,  
except she isn't answering her cell phone -- a fact I find highly  
disturbing, considering the gravity of Mulder's condition. Have  
you seen her?" 

Grey mentally cursed Dana Scully for leaving him hanging in the  
wind. "I saw her a couple hours ago. She said she had business to  
take care of." 

"She didn't offer any specifics?" 

Grey hedged. "She said it was something she had to handle alone." 

His half-truth didn't assuage Skinner's concern. "I don't like it. I  
don't like it at all. Scully would never willingly cut herself off from  
all communication like this, especially now." He reached for his  
cell phone, plunging it back into his pocket after a disapproving  
glare from a nurse. "I've got to find a phone," he said, more to  
himself than to Grey. "Maybe the three stooges know where she  
is." 

"Walt. Wait." 

Grey's quiet command pulled Skinner up short. Grey folded his  
arms and studied the toe of his left shoe, aware that his posture  
communicated defensiveness but unable to repress it. 

"I know where she is." 

Skinner's brows angled downward, the corners of his mouth  
following suit. "Then why in the hell did you just let me stand here  
and spout off about how worried I am?" 

Grey looked up, resolutely absorbing the fury in Skinner's gaze.  
"Because you aren't going to like it." 

"Talk." 

"Cancerman -- Spender -- whatever you want to call that slimy  
subhuman lifeform, offered her a deal." 

Skinner laughed, a bitter, mirthless, despairing sound. Of all the  
diverse reactions for which he'd braced himself, laughter never  
made it on the list. Grey's jaw dropped. 

Skinner slowly shook his head. "Did you ever have the feeling that  
our entire lives are just a single series of events, endlessly  
repeated? That we move in some kind of cosmic circle, doomed to  
wind up right back where we started?" 

Baffled and extremely disconcerted by Skinner's uncharacteristic  
behavior, Grey groped for a response. "Walt, I..." 

Skinner cut him off. "Am I safe in assuming that this *deal*  
involves a cure for Mulder?" 

"He told her he can make a serum with the antibodies in her  
blood." 

"And she *believed* him?" 

Grey shrugged helplessly. "Did Dana fill you in on what I  
remembered earlier today?" 

Skinner nodded impatiently, a slight jerk of his head. 

"He told her the chemo would kill Fox. Said the run-in they had  
with that giant fungus a couple months ago damaged his  
genetically enhanced immunity and another exposure to a toxic  
chemical could finish him off. Dana said it fit, that it all made  
sense. And without the chemo... It's his only chance, Walt." 

Skinner's eyes narrowed. "You *condoned* it? Do you have any  
idea what they could do to her while they have this golden  
opportunity that she handed them on a damn silver platter?" 

"YES! And so did she! You think it makes a bit of difference when  
Fox is dying on the other side of that door? Do you honestly think I  
could have stopped her? I'd have done it myself if they'd given me  
the chance!" 

Grey drew back his fist and swung at the wall, aborting the  
movement at the last moment. Instead, his palm caressed the  
plaster and he tipped his forehead against the smooth window,  
shutting his eyes to the view. Lost in misery, the hand clamped on  
his shoulder barely registered. 

"I was out of line." 

Not hesitant or grudging -- a simple statement of fact. 

Grey acknowledged the apology by cracking open one eye. "She  
doesn't want him to know, Walt. She made me promise not to tell  
him anything." 

Skinner snorted. "Good luck. Once he realizes she's missing..." 

The eye slammed shut. "Right now I can hold his hand and he  
doesn't even know I'm there." 

Skinner gazed through the glass at Mulder's wan face. "I'm sorry,  
Grey. Is there anything I can do?" 

"Pray," Grey said tonelessly. "The rest is in Dana's hands."  
  


Location Unknown  
Thursday  
5:26 p.m.  
  


*Brilliant. Blinding. Piercing. Endless. Relentless. Helpless.* 

Scully violently reconnected with her surroundings, lurching  
upright and scrambling backward until her spine hit the wall with a  
painful crack. She wrapped her arms tightly around her knees and  
rocked, sobbing brokenly. Her entire body ached with the steady  
throb of a sore tooth. But far worse than the physical suffering was  
the aggregation of chaotic and extremely disturbing images that  
lurked at the fringe of her consciousness. 

"Mulder, Mulder, Mulder," she chanted softly, wishing she could  
feel him pressed behind her, that he could encircle her in the safety  
and security of his embrace. 

Eventually, though her eyes grew puffy and her mouth parched,  
her innate strength of spirit reasserted itself and she began to assess  
her situation. A small room, blank, sterile and uninspiring,  
containing a bed, chair, sink, and toilet. A medium-sized mirror  
built into the wall opposite the bed and a video camera in the  
corner screamed that even if not currently under observation, she  
could be at any given moment. Naked except for a skimpy hospital  
gown, Scully spied her clothing folded in a neat pile on the chair,  
shoes lined up like soldiers beneath. She clutched the sheet tightly  
to her chest as the sensation of complete vulnerability resurfaced  
with a vengeance. 

Scully closed her eyes, sucked in slow, deep breaths, and  
concentrated on slowing the erratic beat of her heart. With the  
return of her poise, however, came the uncomfortable awareness  
that she desperately needed to relieve herself. She could hardly be  
called a prude -- many facilities for pathologists still catered to  
men, the showers distinctly lacking in privacy. But while she might  
forsake strict adherence to modesty in her everyday professional  
life, the idea of using the toilet under surveillance left her  
faintly nauseous. 

Oddly enough, the indignity sparked her anger and relegated the  
numbing fear to a back corner of her mind. She stoically  
surrendered to the necessary bodily function, glaring at the mirror  
and muttering about twisted, pathetic voyeurs. She experienced a  
fleeting impulse to test the door to determine if it was locked, but  
quashed it. She might be treated like a prisoner, and her room  
certainly possessed all the charm of a cell, but the bottom line was  
that she'd willingly placed herself into their hands for the chance to  
save Mulder. She wouldn't escape, even if she could. 

Scully returned to the bed, moving carefully to avoid overtaxing  
her abused muscles. She paused to longingly consider the pile of  
clothes, but the rattle of the doorknob settled her dilemma, and she  
slid quickly back under the shelter of the sheet. 

Her nose identified the visitor an instant before her eyes. She  
watched him silently, coldly as he crossed the room to the chair,  
unceremoniously dumped her clothing to the floor and sat down.  
The ferocity of her revulsion startled Scully. From the  
smug, soulless eyes housed in a craggy face to the careless ease of  
his posture, she loathed him with murderous abandon. Yes,  
murderous, Scully mused uncomfortably. Though she'd always  
placed an inestimable value on human life, she could cheerfully  
put a bullet in this monster's head without remorse. He'd reduced  
her to this. And it only served to fuel her hatred. 

A cliched puff of smoke and bland smile. "Agent Scully, I trust  
you've found the accommodations to be adequate for your needs." 

As if he were putting her up for a long weekend rather than  
exploiting her dire need for his own purposes. Scully's lip curled.  
"A regular home away from home." 

"Good, good. Work is proceeding on the serum as planned. With  
your continued cooperation, I'd venture to say that a working  
solution will be completed in another twenty-four hours -- forty-  
eight at the outside." 

Continued cooperation. So they weren't finished with her yet.  
Scully's dry tongue vainly attempted to moisten equally arid lips.  
"Is that the extent of this little social call? To not so subtly let me  
know that I'm not finished playing guinea pig?" 

Spender lifted an eyebrow, unperturbed by her venom.  
"In part. I actually thought you might like an update on Mulder's  
condition. Was I overstepping my bounds?" 

Scully ground her teeth, the grating of bone on bone reverberating  
through her skull. "How. Is. He?" 

"Exercising the Mulder tenacity," Spender replied, a glint of  
something that could only be labeled admiration in his eye. "Fever  
is down enough that he's coherent, or so I'm told. Of course, that  
creates a whole new set of difficulties, doesn't it?" 

Scully's eyes narrowed as she tried to reconcile the Smoker's deeds  
with the respect evident in his gaze. "Why are you doing this --  
really? And don't give me that bullshit about your investment.  
You've certainly tried to kill Mulder in the past -- your hands are  
red with his father's blood. He's thrown a monkey wrench in your  
plans more often than not. Why not let him die and be rid of him?" 

Instead of the supercilious smile, a look of fond reminiscence  
crossed his features. "A favor for an old friend?" 

"You? You'll have to forgive me when I say I find that impossible  
to envision." 

Spender looked amused. "Perhaps, but true nonetheless. There was  
a time when Bill and Teena welcomed me as an extension of the  
family. It was part of my job, you see, to keep an eye on Bill and  
ensure his complete...devotion to the Project. He trusted me, with  
his wife and his children." 

Scully's mouth curved. "But not all of them." 

A flare of irritation and then the resurgence of respect. "No.  
Evidently not. But I learned early on not to underestimate Bill and  
Teena. Or their son. The success of our genetic enhancements  
became obvious while Fox was still very young. Pity that Bill  
could never seem to reconcile his fatherly pride with the guilt over  
his capitulation." 

Scully reeled back, as if Spender had slapped her face. "You're  
saying Mulder's father... He *allowed* the experiment?" 

Spender eyed her coolly. "I'm flattered by your faith in me, but  
even *I* can't orchestrate an Immaculate Conception, Agent  
Scully. Bill and Teena made the decision not to have children.  
Eventually, with the right persuasion, he changed his mind." 

Spender crushed the cigarette under his heel and rose smoothly to  
his feet while Scully still struggled to understand what she'd heard.  
"I'll keep you updated on the serum, Agent Scully. Meanwhile,  
someone will be in with some food and water. We want you to  
keep up your strength, after all." 

Incapable of more, Scully stared mutely at the door long after  
Spender had left the room. She felt sickened by the revelation that  
Bill Mulder knowingly participated in the experimentation on his  
son - and most likely his daughter, as well. How could she add this  
straw to Mulder's already overburdened back? How could she do  
otherwise? 

Preoccupied by her existing worry over Mulder's failing health  
coupled with Spender's disclosure of his father's complicity, more  
than an hour and a tasteless meal passed before another of the  
smoker's statements clicked into place and stole the breath from  
her lungs. 

*The success of our genetic enhancements became obvious while  
Fox was still very young.* 

*Enhancements.* 

*Plural.* 

*My God. What else have they done?*  
  


Room 326  
Thursday  
7:18 p.m.  
  


*He was in a dark place, the darkness so pervasive and complete  
that he was unable to catch even a glimpse of his own hand held in  
front of his face. Where he was and how he'd come to be there  
were a complete mystery, but the gnawing need for food and drink  
eclipsed his normally overactive curiosity.* 

*"Hello? Is anyone there?"* 

*The barren echo of a tomb converted his vocalization into that of  
a stranger. He shivered, the sensations of fear and cold breaking  
thorough his intense thirst and hunger.* 

*"Please, is anyone there? I'm freezing!" he called pitifully.* 

*"There's a blanket near your right hand. Help yourself."* 

*Scully's voice, warm and familiar, but the location  
indistinguishable in the void.* 

*"Scully? Scully, where are you?" His teeth clacked together as  
involuntary shudders wracked his body in an attempt to warm it.* 

*"Put on the blanket, Mulder, or you're going to freeze to death."* 

*Comforted by the familiarity of her wry command, he stretched  
out his right hand and groped along the frigid surface. Though he  
fumbled in all directions his questing fingers came up empty and  
numb.* 

*"It's not here, Scully. Scully, where are you?"* 

*"I'm here, Mulder, and so is that blanket. There's a mug of hot  
soup, too, if you're interested."* 

*At the mention of soup his stomach rumbled fiercely. Mulder  
flung out both arms, scrabbling in all directions and even crawling  
a short distance on hands and knees. Nothing. Only cold, polished  
ebony in all directions. By now his entire body had begun to lose  
feeling, even his tears of misery and frustration like ice on his  
cheeks. What was happening to him? Where was Scully, and why  
wouldn't she help him?* 

*"I can't find it, Scully! I need your help. I need you," he moaned.* 

*"I've been with you the whole time, Mulder. You just have to  
reach out and touch me."* 

*This time he recognized deep sorrow in Scully's warm tones. In a  
surge of desperation he stood and staggered in a circle, arms  
flailing wildly but meeting only air. Spent, he dropped to his knees  
and buried his face in his hands, weeping brokenly.* 

*"I can't," he sobbed. "Ican'tIcan'tIcan't..."* 

*A soft click and the subsequent flood of bright light terminated  
his mantra, and he slowly raised his tear-filled eyes. Directly in  
front of where he knelt, so close he would surely have tripped over  
them in his frantic searching, lay a thick warm blanket and a large  
ceramic mug of steaming soup. And right beside them sat Scully,  
her expression grief-stricken and her cheeks tear-streaked.* 

*"It was a test, Mulder. You had it all right in front of you, but you  
just wouldn't see it."* 

*To his horror, Scully's form wavered and became transparent,  
seeping away like fog in brilliant sunshine.* 

*"NOOO!" he screamed, clutching ineffectively at her no longer  
corporeal form. "Sculleee! I'm sorry! Sculleeee!"* 

*The lights winked out and he found himself plunged once more  
into the depthless void.* 

"Sculleee! Sculleee!" 

"Fox, take it easy! It was just a dream." 

Grey mimicked the motions he'd seen Dana perform to comfort his  
brother, stroking a lock of sweaty hair back from his brow and  
maintaining a steady patter of reassuring words. Fox gradually  
quieted, his twitching body limp against the mattress. His eyes,  
dark and sunken, revealed both pain and lucidity. 

"Where's Scully? I need to see her." 

Grey stood up and occupied his hands with the task of pouring his  
brother some water. How many times had he danced around this  
question today? Each query left him feeling guiltier and Fox more  
frustrated. Dana had now been absent over twenty-four hours, and  
the excuse that she was working on a cure was wearing thin. 

He silently offered the water, jockeying the straw into position  
near Fox's lips and studiously ignoring the irate gaze directed at  
him over the rim of the cup. 

"More?" he asked solicitously when the cup ran dry. 

"Yeah. More answers," Fox croaked, scrutinizing Grey's every  
move. 

Grey sighed, keeping his face carefully bland. "Fox, I already told  
you. Dana is trying to create a serum from the antibodies in her  
blood." 

"Yeah, you told me. But it doesn't explain why she hasn't even  
called to see how I am," Fox grumbled, shifting his head irritably  
on the pillow. 

"Did it ever occur to you that she could've called while you were  
sleeping?" Grey retorted, skirting the edge of the lie and hoping to  
avoid jumping in. So far he'd avoided any out and out falsehoods,  
the thought of jeopardizing his brother's trust abhorrent. That  
tactic, however, had rapidly become ineffective. 

"She did? When?" 

Grey could have kissed Dr. Brewer, who burst into the room at  
exactly that moment. He moved away from Fox's bed, ostensibly  
to allow Brewer access to his patient, his heart pounding and  
perspiration trickling down his back. 

*Don't tell him anything, huh, Dana? Sure. Fine. Whatever.* 

"You're looking a little better, Mulder," Brewer said cheerfully,  
flipping through the chart before crinkling his eyes in an above-  
the-mask smile. "Seems like that new antibiotic is agreeing with  
you." 

"Yeah. Now instead of three-quarters dead, I only feel half dead,"  
Mulder rasped. 

Brewer chuckled appreciatively. "I didn't say you were ready for a  
marathon. But I would like to consider picking up where we left  
off with the chemo. We could start first thing in the morning if you  
have a good night." 

"Fine." 

"NO!" 

The words launched spontaneously, crashing and burning in  
midair. Mulder squinted suspiciously at his brother. 

"What do you mean -- no? We already discussed this, Scully  
said..." 

"She changed her mind," Grey blurted, flushing under Brewer and  
Mulder's puzzled stares. "She told me absolutely no chemo." 

Mulder quirked an eyebrow. "She did. And while you two were  
having this in depth discussion of my medical status, did she  
happen to share the reason for this sudden change of heart?" 

Still trying for as much truth as possible, Grey nodded. "She had a  
theory about why you got sick. She said she thought the chemicals  
from that giant mushroom you two stumbled on might have  
damaged your immunity. She's afraid that exposure to chemo,  
essentially another toxic chemical, might make you sicker." 

His brother's sarcasm faded as he analyzed the concept. Brewer  
just gaped at both of them, obviously still stuck on the part about  
the giant mushroom. Fox propped himself up on his elbows and  
nailed Grey with his eyes. 

"You're *sure* about this? Scully said no chemo?" 

"I'm positive. She made me promise not to allow it if she wasn't  
here." 

Satisfied, Fox slumped back onto the pillows, coughing weakly.  
"You heard him," he said to Brewer. "No chemo." 

Brewer shook his head disapprovingly. "You realize what you're  
saying? That chemo is your only chance." 

Mulder thrust out his lip stubbornly. "Scully will figure something  
out. She'll find a way." 

Brewer sighed. "Fine. If you change your mind -- again -- let me  
know. I'll stop by to see how you're doing in the morning." 

Mulder remained silent until his doctor exited the room, then  
glared at Grey. "I want to know what's going on. Right now." 

Grey swallowed hard, his mind racing. 

*Someone please shoot me now and put me out of my misery.* 

"What do you mean?" When in doubt, play dumb. 

"Dammit, don't do this to me! Scully did *not* just have some sort  
of divinely inspired epiphany about that mushroom, and she's not  
in the lab working on a serum. There's more that you're not telling  
me -- something big -- and I want to know what it is!" 

Too much emotion, too much strain on irritated and overtaxed  
lungs and airways. The coughing fit was by far the  
worst Grey had witnessed. His brother doubled over, clutching his  
ribs in an attempt to protect them from the violent spasms, and  
flecks of blood spattered his gown and the sheet. Elena raced into  
the room an instant later, alerted to his soaring heartrate by the  
monitor. Grey stood back helplessly while she replaced the oxygen  
mask with the nebulizer to deliver the necessary aerosol  
medication. By the time she'd cleaned him up with a fresh gown  
and bedding, Fox had slipped into a gray state -- neither conscious  
nor asleep, but wavering somewhere in between. 

Elena gently wiped his face with a cool cloth. "That's it, Mulder,  
you're fine now," she said soothingly. "Just rest for a bit." 

Turning, she grasped Grey firmly by the arm and steered him over  
to the corner farthest from the bed. "What brought *that* on?" she  
asked pointedly. "I thought I heard raised voices and then the  
monitor went nuts. I'm sure I don't have to remind you that he can't  
afford to become agitated right now." 

Grey ducked his head, properly chastised. "I'm sorry. He's asking  
questions about Dana, and she was adamant that he not find out  
where she is right now." 

Elena frowned. "Why not? Two days ago I thought I'd never get  
her to go home and sleep. Now she's evading him?" 

"She's pursuing a cure for this disease," Grey explained, glancing  
uneasily over his shoulder and keeping his voice low. "It's very  
risky and her life is on the line. She knew he'd eat himself up with  
worry." 

Elena rolled her eyes in exasperation. "And he isn't now? This is  
none of my business, Grey, but take my advice. The devil you do  
know is always less frightening than the one you don't. He can't  
weather another episode like this, he risks permanent respiratory  
damage." She lay a gentle hand on his arm. "I'd tell him." 

She didn't wait for him to acknowledge her words, just gave his  
arm a squeeze and slipped out the door. Grey wandered slowly  
back to the bed, rubbing his fingers against the pain that had settled  
just over his left eye. Fox slept, looking brittle and wrung out.  
Rarely moved to tears, Grey felt the treacherous moisture building  
behind his eyes for the second time in as many days. Sinking into  
the chair, wrapped in the privacy of the still room, he surrendered.  
  


Room 326  
Friday  
7:12 a.m. 

When Mulder finally surfaced again, Skinner had replaced Grey,  
his bulk dwarfing the institutional plastic chair. He was immersed  
in a copy of the Washington Post, unaware that his charge had  
awakened, so Mulder took the opportunity to clear the cobwebs  
from his fuzzed brain. He tried to reconcile the man currently  
enduring the discomfort of gown, gloves, and mask with the hard-  
nosed A.D. who shot down fifty percent of his 302s. His  
relationship with Skinner had shifted and evolved over the years --  
sometimes colleague, sometimes adversary, sometimes friend, but  
always respected. That he occupied that chair, rather than his office  
at the bureau, only elevated Mulder's already simmering anxiety over  
Scully's absence. 

He must have unconsciously sighed, because Skinner's eyes  
snapped up from the paper to regard him with honest pleasure. 

"Mulder. Welcome back to the land of the living." 

Mulder forced words past a raw, abraded throat. "You sure about  
that, sir?" he whispered. 

Skinner just grinned and performed the water ritual. Though  
swallowing further aggravated chafed tissues, the cool liquid took  
the edge off Mulder's discomfort. Skinner sat back in the chair and  
regarded him shrewdly. 

"Heard things got a little out of hand last night." 

"I notice he's conveniently absent from questioning," Mulder  
retorted bitterly, referring to Grey. 

"He'd been here nearly twenty-four hours straight, Mulder,"  
Skinner replied neutrally. "He was ready to keel over with  
exhaustion. I insisted he go get some sleep." 

Shamed by his selfishness, Mulder averted his eyes. "Sorry. I know  
he's been pushing himself too hard, especially after all he's been  
through. I just want a straight answer about Scully." 

Weak, tired, and feeling miserable, he couldn't quite hide the  
tremor in his voice. Skinner clenched his jaw and regarded him  
cautiously. He knew about the confrontation that triggered  
Mulder's coughing spell -- Grey had brokenly related the entire  
incident, including the inner conflict between his loyalty to his  
brother and his promise to Scully. Skinner studied Mulder's  
anguished face and made a decision. 

"Mulder, Grey promised Scully that he wouldn't tell you where  
she's gone." Skinner quickly held up his hand to still Mulder's  
protest. "*I* made no such promise." 

Mulder's eyes glittered and his fists clutched the bedclothes. "Tell  
me." 

"First, you give me your word," Skinner said tersely. "Scully kept  
this from you because Scully *knows* you. This is out of your  
hands now, Mulder, and beyond your control. You will not attempt  
to leave the hospital after I tell you this, in fact, you will not *do*  
anything. I'm not about to let you put me in the position of  
explaining to Scully why I contributed to your illness. Is that  
clear?" 

Mulder grit his teeth. "It's clear. Where is she?" 

"Cancerman offered her a deal. He supplies the equipment and  
personnel, Scully supplies the blood, and you get your cure --  
provided that she places herself in his custody." 

Mulder sucked in a sharp breath of air, face contorted in a grimace,  
head seesawing wildly back and forth in denial. "No," he moaned.  
"No, she wouldn't do that, how could she do that?" 

"Can you really ask that question? Or have you forgotten the  
conversation we had in my office a couple years ago?" Skinner  
gently reminded him. 

"But you know that bastard can't be trusted!" Mulder growled,  
breaking off into several hacking coughs. At Skinner's warning  
glare he wrestled his agitation into submission. "There's no telling  
what he'll do now that he has her," he muttered, voice cracking.  
"He won't give Scully what she wants without exacting a price." 

"A price she was willing to pay," Skinner said. "She felt the  
potential benefit was worthy of the risk." 

Mulder flung his arm over his eyes. "She's crazy." 

Skinner lifted an eyebrow. "She loves you." 

Mulder didn't move. "Same thing."  
  


Unknown location  
Friday  
4:43 p.m.  
  


Scully prowled the room restlessly, unable to smother the constant,  
low-level buzz of dread that resonated through her body. She'd  
awakened in her room nearly two hours earlier, after spending  
another indeterminate segment of time playing test subject. This time  
she'd regained consciousness rapidly, and everything, from her  
memory to her level of pain, was clearer and more intense. She  
could perfectly picture the detached brown gaze of the doctor as he  
recorded her responses to various excruciating stimuli. Stimuli  
that, she was frighteningly certain, emanated directly from the chip  
embedded in the back of her neck. Coupled with that realization  
came another vivid recollection of paralysis, her limbs restrained  
and unresponsive, as a hot poker pierced the tender flesh above the  
apex of her spine. Scully's hand had flown to her neck, fingers  
aggravating blistered skin but locating the tiny subcutaneous  
bump. The chip was still there -- or *a* chip, anyway. Impossible  
to know if her tormentors had replaced it with a new model. 

She'd used the toilet and slurped some water from the sink, barely  
granting the invisible eyes a passing thought. A small part of her  
was disturbed by the resigned adaptation to her imprisonment, but  
she was too weary and uncomfortable to allow it much  
consideration. She'd been halfway through consuming a turkey  
sandwich, discovered on a tray by the bed, when the first tendrils  
of unease had wormed their way into Scully's mind. Her Mulder  
alarm -- the vague, distressed whisper that inevitably signaled  
impending disaster for the man. Alaska. New Mexico. Bermuda.  
As illogical, irrational, and un-Scullylike as it might be, the feeling  
proved to be eerily accurate time after time. 

Scully tried to pass off the sensation at first. Spender had assured  
her Mulder had rallied, his condition taking a distinct upswing  
after she'd left. But the bread and meat stuck in her throat, settling  
like wet sand in her belly, and she left the second half of the  
sandwich untouched. By the time the doorknob rattled, signifying  
company, she'd nearly worked herself into a frenzy of  
apprehension. She retained the presence of mind to retreat to the  
bed, not climbing in but bracing herself against it. She expected  
more smoke and deception, her defenses rattled when the  
interloper turned out to be Krycek instead. 

"Hey, Scully," he said matter-of-factly, as if he'd just bumped into  
her at the deli. 

"Krycek," Scully said coldly, the name an insult on her lips. "What  
are you doing here? I'd think someone with your talents would be  
busy. Surely there's a murder or kidnapping that requires your  
attention?" 

Krycek grinned. "Be nice. I'm here to take you back." 

Scully's battered spirit soared at his nonchalant declaration, but she  
schooled her features to reveal nothing. "Just like that." 

Krycek shrugged. "Don't look at me, I'm just following directions.  
Smokey evidently got what he needed from you." 

"And what about what *I* need? Where's the serum for Mulder?" 

Krycek extracted a leather case from his pocket and snapped it  
open. Inside lay a small glass vial of amber fluid and a capped  
syringe identical to the one he'd produced in the van. 

"The vial is for him, the needle is for you. You know the drill. Get  
dressed and we can get this over with." 

Scully's eyes caressed the precious liquid as she reached for her  
clothing. "How do I know that's the real thing? That I won't get it  
to the lab and find it's colored water - - or worse, poison?" 

"You don't." Krycek shook his head. "Did you think it was going  
to come with a certificate of authenticity and a money-back  
guarantee? Just put on the clothes, Scully." 

Scully unfolded her slacks, then hesitated, looking pointedly at  
Krycek. "Do you mind?" 

"Actually, I do." Krycek delivered a leer worthy of Mulder, but  
showed her his back. "You know, you're a beautiful woman,  
Scully. Mulder's a lucky son of a bitch." 

Scully chose not to reply as she hastily pulled, zipped, and  
buttoned. 

"'Course I knew Mulder had it bad for you -- anyone with eyes  
could have seen that. I just never thought he'd scrape up the  
courage to tell you and end that 'worship from afar' routine." 

Scully refused to be baited, holding her tongue. Krycek continued  
after a brief pause, unperturbed. 

"I've got to admit, when I heard you two were together my first  
thought was 'what a waste.' You could do better, Scully." 

Scully donned her shoes just as he finished speaking and turned  
around with a smirk. She folded her arms and considered him with  
raised eyebrow. 

"Jealous, Krycek?" 

Green eyes smoldered through long dark lashes. "Would you like  
me to be?" 

Scully's lip curled. "I meant jealous of me. The way I hear it,  
*you* actually kissed Mulder before *I* did." 

Krycek's face darkened, seducer exchanged for cold-blooded killer.  
He negligently chucked the leather case at Scully, who barely  
snagged a corner before it could strike the linoleum. 

"Do it. Or I will." 

*Brilliant, Dana. Question a man's sexual preference right before  
you place yourself completely at his mercy.* 

Scully removed the syringe and set it aside before tenderly  
wrapping the vial in the case and tucking it into the pocket of her  
blazer. Licking her lips, she unzipped her pants enough to expose  
her hip and removed the plastic cap from the needle. Krycek  
watched her dispassionately while she deftly administered the  
drug, refastened her slacks, and inched up onto the bed. 

The effects hit swiftly, her eyelids gaining fifty pounds and her  
thoughts slipping sideways when she tried to focus. Krycek  
sauntered slowly over to her side and removed the spent syringe  
from her weakening grasp. Scully internally cringed with fear at  
his proximity, but the pull of the narcotic negated any physical  
response. Krycek lifted his hand and gently tucked a wayward  
strand of hair behind her ear, astonishing the small portion of her  
brain that could still comprehend the incongruity of his action. His  
fingers brushed soothingly against her forehead until her eyes slid  
shut, but the words he murmured no longer carried any meaning. 

"You're something else, Scully. Hope Mulder recognizes what he's  
got."  
  


GUMC  
Friday  
8:12 p.m.  
  


"...suffering from an undetermined narcotic, some form of  
depressant." 

Fingers tugging at her right eyelid, then blinding white light shot  
straight through her skull. Scully moaned, reflexively jerking her  
head to the left but the same procedure was relentlessly repeated  
on her other eye. 

"Pupils equal and responsive. She's coming around. She doesn't  
seem to have incurred any physical trauma." A nurse's voice, brisk  
and efficient. 

"Do we have some I.D.?" Another female voice, authoritative.  
Probably the doctor. 

"Yes. Special Agent Dana Scully. She's with the FBI." 

"What's a fed doing parked on a gurney in the ER, stoned?" 

Scully wrestled her eyes open, flinching back from the blurred face  
scant inches from her own, penlight in hand. It retreated to a more  
respectable distance, and Scully squinted to focus her still fuzzy  
vision. 

"Agent Scully? I'm Doctor Chin, I've been taking care of you. Do  
you know where you are?" 

The speaker was Asian, a bit older than Scully and very pretty, her  
glossy black hair drawn back from her face in a ponytail. Scully  
scrambled to marshal her muzzy and disjointed thoughts, eyes  
scanning the large room and the small curtained section she  
currently occupied. 

"Um." She cleared her dry throat, grimacing at the nasty taste in  
her mouth. "Am I back at Georgetown Medical?" 

Dr. Chin's eyebrows skyrocketed. "Back? You were here before?" 

Scully floundered to a sitting position and swung her legs over the  
edge of the gurney, ignoring the fervent protests from both doctor  
and nurse. Her eyes sought the clock on the wall, widening at the  
time. 

"What day is this?" she asked anxiously. 

Dr. Chin exchanged a long look with the nurse before answering.  
"Friday. November 12. But I'm supposed to ask *you* that  
question. Agent Scully, you need to lie down. You're still suffering  
from the lingering effects of an unknown narcotic and..." 

"My jacket! What happened to the jacket I was wearing? What did  
you do with it?" Scully knew she sounded hysterical -- couldn't  
stop the panic racing through her veins with every beat of her  
heart. 

"Calm down, Agent Scully, it's right here." The nurse lifted the  
navy blazer from a hook on the wall, a bit put out when Scully  
snatched it from her grasp. 

Scully's hands trembled as she dug her hand into the pocket, weak  
kneed with relief when she felt the smooth surface of the small  
container. Dr. Chin frowned at the odd display of behavior and  
tried again, keeping her voice deliberately patient and conciliatory. 

"Dr. Scully. An orderly found you unconscious, lying on a gurney  
in a hallway off the emergency room. Despite extensive  
questioning of the staff, nobody seems to know how you got there,  
and you've obviously been drugged. Now I suggest you lay down  
and let us finish examining you." 

Scully pulled on the blazer and meticulously adjusted the collar,  
though she knew in her presently rumpled and misused state it  
hardly mattered. Taking a cleansing breath, she donned her  
professionalism as well, regarding Dr. Chin calmly. 

"Dr. Chin, I appreciate what you're trying to do, as well as what  
you've already done, but I'm fine. I'm caught up in a life and death  
case, and time is of the essence. Please get the appropriate  
paperwork for me to sign so I can leave -- AMA, if that's my only  
option." 

Dr. Chin's jaw dropped, then she threw up both hands in defeat.  
"Fine. Never let it be said that I impeded the dispersal of justice.  
Janet, get the paperwork for Agent Scully." 

Five minutes later Scully exited the elevator to the third floor,  
tired, sore, disheveled, but bearing the priceless serum safely in her  
pocket. Her pulse sped up and she broke into a jog as she neared  
Mulder's room, excitement and apprehension fighting for the upper  
hand. Snatching a gown off the rack she darted to the window,  
hungry for a glimpse of his face. Instead her eager eyes found an  
empty bed, stripped of linens and its inhabitant. 

Shock slammed into her -- a runaway freight train that knocked her  
completely out of her body, leaving an empty shell. Scully  
staggered, nearly went to her knees but for the reflexive clasp of  
fingers to the window sill. The desolate, keening wail started  
somewhere around her toes and shredded most of her insides on  
the way out. She ground her forehead into the cool, unyielding  
glass, her tears streaking the surface like bitter raindrops. 

"Too late," she whispered, the words' serrated edges severing her  
heart from her chest. "I'm sorry, Mulder, so sorry." 

She breathed the refrain over and over, like a prayer. But no one  
heard.  
  


Intensive Care  
Friday  
8:47 p.m.  
  


It was all caving in, the substance of his day to day existence  
crumbling to rain down around him in large chunks and pieces.  
And Skinner could only stand to the side and mutely view the  
destruction. 

Intensive care again, Mulder as white and still as death amidst the  
tubes and wires reminding his body to function. Grey, his brother's  
pliant hand clasped between his own and pressed against his  
bowed head. No masks and gloves, the unspoken meaning clear.  
Not long now... 

Skinner leaned against the wall, something solid and steady among  
the chaos. Mulder treading the thin line between life and death, the  
growth now exerting more pressure than his fragile brain tissue  
could withstand. Scully missing, in the hands of a monster devoid  
of even the most basic components of human conscience and  
emotion. And Grey gradually imploding, collapsing inward under  
the weight of his own grief and helplessness. Not long now... 

Brewer's fingers brushing his sleeve startled Skinner from his dark  
reverie. Brewer himself looked a shadow of his normally free-  
spirited persona, his tie a subdued stripe, rigid shoulders replacing  
the casual slouch, and eyes...resigned. Skinner's lungs went on  
strike, the oxygen catching and sticking in a suddenly constricted  
throat. 

"Mr. Skinner, this is the last conversation I wanted to have, but..." 

"DON'T." 

Seeing in Brewer's wide eyes and defensive step backward that  
he'd inadvertently used the drill sergeant voice, Skinner sighed.  
"You don't have to say it, Dr. Brewer. It's right in front of me. How  
long?" 

Brewer stroked his jaw, fingers rasping on stubble, and Skinner felt  
gratified to see honest compassion cloud his face. "Hard to say  
with any accuracy." A flash of respect. "He's a fighter. But in spite  
of our best efforts the intracranial pressure keeps rising. We'll keep  
giving him mannitol for the inflammation, and the dilantin seems  
to have arrested the seizures. But these are stopgap measures to  
manage the symptoms. Eventually the pressure will rise to an  
unmanageable level and..." 

Skinner pinched the bridge of his nose. "I understand." 

Dr. Brewer turned, then paused. "Dr. Scully?" 

"We are currently unable to communicate with Agent Scully,"  
Skinner replied curtly, thinking what an understatement *that*  
was. 

"I see. Well, if she does contact you..." He faltered, clearly  
uncomfortable. "I suggest you tell her to get back here. Soon." 

Skinner watched Brewer approach Mulder's bedside, conversing  
quietly with Grey as he gently but thoroughly checked his patient.  
He recognized the instant Brewer delivered his prognosis -- Grey's  
body folded, his forehead dropping to the bedrail and his shoulders  
shaking. Skinner spun on his heel, teeth clamped together, fists  
curled. 

"Mr. Skinner?" 

The nurse was young, blonde, and generic, and Skinner wished for  
Elena's unique and feisty brand of caregiving. 

"Yes?" 

"There's a call for you, sir. You can take it right here." 

He pressed the receiver to his ear, curbing the impulse to jump  
down Kim's throat for disturbing him, then catching sight of the  
hour. 

"Skinner." 

"Is this Assistant Director Walter Skinner? Of the FBI?" 

Impatience provoked his growl. "Yes. Who is this?" 

"Sir, my name is Dr. Amy Chin. I'm a physician downstairs in the  
ER. I'm calling in regards to one of your agents -- a Dana Scully?  
I was unable to reach either her mother or Fox Mulder, both listed  
as emergency contacts in her wallet. I spoke to your assistant at  
home and she gave me this number. Needless to say, I didn't  
expect to find you just two floors up." 

Skinner's brain locked onto the name Dana Scully, the rest of the  
doctor's speech fading to meaningless drivel. 

"Agent Scully is there?" he demanded eagerly. 

"No. That is, she *was* here, but signed herself out against  
medical advice. I'm calling because Agent Scully left her keys  
here, and also out of concern for her present condition." 

"What's wrong with her? Was she injured?" 

Dr. Chin evidently was accustomed to interrogations by worried  
friends and didn't flinch at his tone. "No. But she'd been injected  
with a very potent narcotic, and her manner upon waking  
was...odd." 

"In what way?" 

"She was quite disoriented at first, but that's to be expected. One of  
the reasons I tried to persuade her to stay is that the drug will take  
several hours to clear her system. She's apt to be a little confused  
and unsteady until then." 

"I don't understand -- you just said that's normal. What did you  
find disturbing?" 

Dr. Chin hesitated before proceeding cautiously, obviously not  
wishing to put Scully in an awkward position with her boss. "She  
became almost hysterical at one point just because she couldn't  
locate the blazer she'd been wearing. Once we returned it to her she  
regained her composure -- to the extreme. She insisted that she was  
in the middle of an important case and couldn't remain under  
observation. I'm uncomfortable with the wild mood swings, and  
concerned about a possible undetected head trauma." 

Skinner absorbed the doctor's description, his mind working  
furiously. Scully's panic over the jacket -- could it have contained  
Mulder's cure? It would certainly explain her undue agitation, and  
the subsequent reassertion of control. He suddenly registered the  
pregnant pause as Dr. Chin awaited his response. 

"How long ago did she sign herself out?" 

"Only ten minutes -- fifteen at most. But she didn't reveal where  
she was going." 

"I know where she's going," Skinner replied grimly. "Thank you  
for your concern, Dr. Chin. Someone will be by to pick up the  
keys. I'll take care of Agent Scully." 

He hung up the phone, eyes searching for a nurse and locating  
Blondie. 

"If Mr. McKenzie asks for me, please tell him I had to pick up  
something important and I'll be right back," he advised tersely. 

The elevator trundled up to the third floor with maddening lack of  
urgency. Skinner drummed his fingers against his wool clad leg,  
staring at the floor indicator as if he could prod it to move faster by  
sheer force of will. He darted into the hallway, headed in the  
direction of Mulder's old room, his steps slowing as his eyes  
zeroed in on the bright copper of Scully's tangled hair. She stood  
pressed against the glass outside the vacant room, hand clutching  
the window frame to assist trembling legs in bearing her weight.  
Even from a distance, Skinner could hear her heartbroken sobs. A  
nurse carefully approached, hand outstretched to offer comfort, but  
Skinner broke into a trot and waved her off. Swallowing hard, he  
let his own hand drift to Scully's shoulder. 

"Scully." 

So grief stricken, her defenses completely stripped away, Scully  
didn't even attempt to disguise her tears. "It's all for nothing. I'm  
too late, and I wasn't even with him when he needed me the most." 

Skinner's fingers tightened as he turned her to face him, shaking  
his head. "Scully, no." 

"It's true!" She wrenched away from his grasp, eyes inexorably  
drawn back to the empty bed. "I failed him! What good is this  
now?" 

She scrabbled in her pocket, yanking out a small black case and  
wrenching it open. Skinner's eyes widened at the sight of the  
fragile glass tube. Scully scooped it into her palm recklessly,  
brushing away tears with the back of her hand. 

"This is the reason I couldn't touch him, couldn't hold him in my  
arms one more time. It hardly seems worth it, does it sir?" 

Her fingers clamped roughly over the little vial and her arm  
twitched. 

"Scully, NO!" Skinner lunged for her wrist, terrified that in her  
distress she would dash the precious bottle to the floor. "He's alive,  
Scully! He's in pretty bad shape, but he's holding on." 

Scully's face went slack and she tottered, gripping Skinner's sleeve  
when he steadied her. "H...He's alive?" she whispered, the voice of  
a little girl afraid to believe. "But the empty room, I thought..." 

"He's down in the ICU again. The headache suddenly became  
excruciating this afternoon and he began having seizures. Brewer  
did another CAT scan -- the mass has nearly doubled in size." 

They were walking briskly toward the elevators now, and Skinner  
surreptitiously looked Scully over, taking in the rumpled clothing,  
pale skin and shadowed eyes. Despite Dr. Chin's fears, however,  
Scully appeared to be clear-headed. She caught him looking, and  
actually mustered a weary smile. 

"I'm fine, sir. Really." 

Standing silently in the elevator, he wanted to pump her for  
information, to ask exactly how she had been treated and what  
she'd endured, but his lips couldn't form the words and Scully's  
body language clearly indicated that she didn't want to discuss it.  
The moment the doors began to open she squeezed through and  
flew down the hall, leaving Skinner scrambling to catch up. When  
he reached Mulder's cubicle, she and Grey were locked in a tight  
embrace. Skinner stuffed his hands into his pockets and hung back,  
allowing them the moment. 

"We were starting to think you weren't coming," Grey said,  
releasing her to swipe at his eyes. 

"I'm here. And I have what we were looking for," Scully answered,  
bending over to place a kiss on Mulder's lips and running her  
fingers through his hair. "Hey, Mulder. Didja miss me?" 

The words quavered, unable to hold all the love poured into them.  
Scully pressed another kiss to his cheek, murmuring into his ear. "I  
have it, Mulder. Don't you let go now, not when we're so close." 

"Dr. Brewer said it's unlikely he'll regain consciousness,  
Dana," Grey said softly. "They've got him on morphine, not to  
mention a heavy dose of something called dilantin." 

"It's for the seizures," Scully replied, voice choked with emotion. 

Despite Grey's words, Mulder's right hand twitched, followed by a  
slight tilt of his head. His breathing sped up and he moaned, a low,  
tortured cry. Scully shushed him, gently stroking his brow as his  
eyelids fluttered and struggled to rise. 

"Shhh. It's okay, love, you don't have to wake up," she crooned.  
"I'm here now, and I've got medicine to make you well." 

Heedless of her advice, as always, he pried his eyes open to half-  
mast and fixed them on her face. "Scully." 

She constantly marveled at his ability to say so much by simply  
uttering her name. Tonight she heard pain, sorrow, fear, and, most  
of all, overwhelming relief. Scully smiled, the complete,  
unrestricted display of teeth that she knew he prized, and cupped  
his chin. 

"Hey there. It's about time you welcomed me back." 

Mulder's hand fumbled for her sleeve, latching on with a  
surprisingly firm grip. "Shouldn'ta done it. All right?" 

Her thumb caressed his cheek. "I'm fine, now that I'm here with  
you." 

He tried to lean into her touch, but gasped, his face screwing up  
into a grimace. A tear slipped down the side of his face and  
disappeared into the pillow. "Make it stop, Sculleee," he groaned.  
"Make it stop. I can't..." 

A shudder ran the entire length of his body and his eyes rolled  
back in his head. Scully sprang up, frightened that he was  
experiencing another seizure, but he only slumped limply onto the  
bed. 

"Give it to him now, Dana," Grey pleaded. "He can't take much  
more of this." 

Scully removed the vial and stared at the golden liquid nervously.  
"I was planning on taking it to the lab first, for analysis. I have no  
idea what's in here, or what it might do to him." 

"He's in unbearable pain, Dana, and he's *going to die*. I don't  
really give a damn what's in it at this point, it's the only chance he's  
got left!" Grey snarled. 

"So you'd rather I risk that he die by my own hand?" Scully  
snapped. "Whatever happened to your admonishments about  
dealing with the devil? Now you're ready to just trust that  
Cancerman's upheld his part of the bargain?" 

"We're past that now! We. Have. No. Choice. Brewer said an  
aneurysm could drop him at any time, provided the pressure  
doesn't do it first. If you don't want the responsibility, give it to me  
and show me what to do." 

"You don't understand, he could..." 

"He's right, Scully." 

Skinner surprised them, both caught up in the heat of the argument  
and oblivious to his silent presence. He stepped over and placed  
himself between them. 

"You both care about him and have his best interest at heart.  
Brawling like a couple of two-year-olds isn't going to help him." 

Scully and Grey looked ruefully at each other, chastised by the  
truth. 

"I'm sorry, Dana," Grey said. "I realize I'm not a doctor. I just can't  
stand to see him like this." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I can't  
face losing him." 

Scully wove her fingers with his. "I'm sorry too. I'm just scared,  
Grey. This is all or nothing." 

"Scully, short of the lab telling you it's poison, would it really  
make a difference what the analysis turned up?" Skinner asked.  
"Seems to me it's going to come down to a leap of faith." He shook  
his head. "I can't believe I just said that." 

"Must be an X-File," Grey muttered. 

All three involuntarily turned to regard the man in the bed. Scully  
expelled a shaky puff of air and headed for the nurses' station. 

"Where are you going?" Grey called, frowning. 

"Preparing to jump," Scully said dryly. "I'll be right back." 

Skinner answered Grey's puzzled glance with a shrug, and the two  
men waited in silence until Scully returned a moment later,  
stripping the plastic covering from a syringe. She popped off the  
cap and plunged the sharp tip of the needle into the inverted vial,  
her hands quivering as she slowly pulled back on the plunger to fill  
the barrel. Placing the empty vial in her pocket, she extracted an  
antiseptic pad and tossed it to Grey. 

"Wipe down the skin on his neck, right over the carotid artery," she  
instructed firmly. 

"His neck?" Grey asked doubtfully. 

"Just do it." 

Grey tore open the pad and was in the process of smoothing it over  
his brother's skin when nurse Blondie stuck her head in the cubicle. 

"What exactly do you think you're doing? This is Dr. Brewer's  
patient, you can't just administer meds without his approval!" 

Scully spared her one cool look, then dismissed her. "Actually, *I*  
am Mr. Mulder's primary physician. Now back off." 

Blondie spluttered angrily. "You aren't listed on the chart. Dr.  
Brewer..." 

Skinner stepped forward, taking her by the arm and firmly rotating  
her toward the nurses' station. "Why don't you just contact Dr.  
Brewer? We'll wait right here." 

The authoritative A.D. voice worked its usual magic and the  
disgruntled nurse retreated, making a beeline for the phone and  
muttering under her breath. Scully raised an eyebrow at Skinner  
before turning back to lean over Mulder. Some of the alcohol from  
the prep pad still glistened on his skin, and she tipped his chin  
gingerly to the right to better expose the artery. She placed one  
hand over his heart and paused, eyes shut and lips moving silently.  
It took Skinner a moment to realize she was praying. 

Scully opened her eyes and bit her lip. "I'm not sure what's going  
to happen," she confessed. "But here we go." 

Skinner watched with equal parts fascination and revulsion as she  
inserted the needle into Mulder's neck and slowly depressed the  
plunger. When all of the fluid had passed out of the syringe, she  
extracted it, replaced the cap, and slipped it back into her pocket. 

The whole procedure lasted about ten seconds, but the reaction was  
nearly instantaneous. Something black and viscous oozed from  
beneath Mulder's closed lids and from his nostrils. Rather than  
pouring out in a continuous stream, it wriggled out in segments  
that squirmed down the sides of his face as if he were shedding  
ebony tears. Scully drew in a harsh breath of air and unconsciously  
shrank back before reasserting control and leaning cautiously  
closer to scrutinize the now motionless oily residue. 

"Don't touch him," she ordered, disappearing into the hall once  
again returning this time with a sterile specimen cup and a tongue  
depressor. Upper lip wrinkling, she warily used the wooden stick  
to scrape the oil into the cup. The surface tension was such that it  
transferred intact, leaving no traces on Mulder's skin. Scully sealed  
the cup and turned to Skinner. 

"Sir, we need this sent to the lab for analysis, and it should be  
handled under biocontainment procedures." 

"I'll get a courier to pick it up right away," Skinner said grimly. He  
collected the cup and left to use the phone, passing an agitated Dr.  
Brewer on his way out. 

Brewer burst into the cubicle, blinking when he saw Scully, who  
was once again seated beside the bed and holding Mulder's hand.  
His eyes roved around the area, checking out the equipment and  
Mulder's motionless form. 

"Welcome back, Dr. Scully," he finally greeted, the smile on his  
face failing to hide the reserve in his eyes. "I just got a very strange  
call from Brenna Martin, the ICU nurse. She had the impression  
that you were injecting Mulder with an unknown substance. Where  
would she get a strange idea like that?" 

Scully shrugged. "Strange ideas are my job, Dr. Brewer. That's  
what the X-Files are all about -- extreme possibilities." 

"Scully, I just got very turned on." 

The voice was as thin as tissue paper, consonants hopelessly  
slurred, but the most beautiful thing Scully had ever heard. Her  
eyes jumped from Brewer's face to the twin hazel orbs that peeked  
through heavy lids. 

"'S gone," Mulder mumbled, his attempt to squeeze her hand little  
more than the twitch of a few fingers. 

Scully's heart hammered wildly. "The pain?" Mulder's eyes started  
to drift shut and she insistently brushed her knuckles across his  
cheek, her tried and true method of keeping him with her. "Mulder,  
the pain is gone?" 

Mulder scowled, trying to swat at her with a limb too leaden to  
move. "Yeah. 'S all gone. 'M tired, babe, lemme sleep." 

Scully stared at him as he slipped peacefully into sleep, his breath  
still rattling in his lungs but leveling out to a regular rhythm. She  
lifted her eyes to Grey's and saw her own fledgling hope reflected.  
Brewer just gazed at them both as if they were about to start  
gibbering and drooling any moment. 

"Could somebody please bring me up to speed?" 

"We need one more CAT scan, Dr. Brewer," Scully said, barely  
restrained joy in her voice. "I think the results are going to surprise  
you."  
  


Room 342  
Sunday  
9:38 a.m.  
  


It felt like a party -- or maybe the first warm, sunny spring day  
after a long and bitter winter. Scully's eyes slowly swept the room.  
Dr. Brewer, back to his "rebel with a cause" image, sported a  
Simpsons tie and listened slack-jawed as Mulder regaled him with  
the Tooms case. Skinner, transformed from A.D. to mere mortal by  
worn jeans and a green Henley, chuckled softly as Elena described  
her latest run-in with a patient from hell. Grey, sitting in a chair,  
sock feet propped up on the end of the bed, just...watched his  
brother with a look on his face that made Scully's throat tighten  
and her eyes prickle. And the guest of honor, still too pale and thin  
but showered and shaved, looked far better than any man so fresh  
from the brink of death had the right to. In fact, he looked amazing. 

Elena must have sensed her thoughts, or at least read her  
expression, because she winked at Scully and then turned to  
Mulder with an impish grin. 

"You know, you clean up pretty nice, Mulder. Who'd a thought?" 

Mulder inclined his head. "Thanks. I think." 

"Yeah, well, that's nothing," Brewer said. "Your insides look  
incredible. We've got the pneumonia on the run, your white count  
has already risen significantly, and..." He swung a piercing gaze  
onto Scully. "I don't suppose you'd like to share just what you gave  
him that managed to completely obliterate a tumor in the space of  
six hours?" 

Scully pursed her lips and looked enigmatic. Mulder had a mild  
coughing spell when Brewer folded his arms and muttered, "I  
know, I know -- must be an X-File." 

When he ceased sputtering, Mulder swallowed some water and  
looked shrewdly at Brewer. "How long before I can work?" 

Scully, Skinner, and Grey all groaned in perfect unison. Mulder  
crossed his arms and stuck out his lower lip, glaring at them.  
Scully dropped her head to hide the smile that tugged at her lips. 

*Thank God.* 

"I take it from their reactions that you tend to push the envelope on  
recovery, Mulder," Brewer said dryly. "I have one piece of advice  
for you. DON'T. Your body has taken an incredible beating and  
you're going to feel like shit off and on for weeks. Don't fight it.  
You need sleep, and plenty of it. If I see you back here with a  
secondary infection, I'll be pissed." 

Mulder made a face. "I don't do sleep very well." 

Brewer just grinned. "Trust me -- you will." He dropped Mulder's  
chart into the pocket at the end of the bed. "I'll stop by later. If we  
can lose the residual fever and clear up your lungs a bit more, you  
should be able to go home in a couple of days." He nodded to  
Scully. "In the custody of your personal physician, of course." 

Elena followed him out, flashing Skinner a smile and touching his  
arm as she passed. "Be back in a bit with your meds, Mulder," she  
called cheerfully. 

Scully recorded the smile, as well as the way Skinner's head  
rotated on its axis to watch Elena walk out the door. Mulder, as  
usual, was oblivious, but she noticed Grey observing Skinner and  
smothering a smirk. 

*Hmmm. Extreme possibilities popping up all over the place.* 

Skinner turned back, caught them looking, and flushed. Scully was  
still trying to wrap her mind around *that* when Grey put Skinner  
out of his misery. 

"How 'bout it, Walt? Is that offer of a ride still good?" 

Skinner appeared comically relieved. "Yeah. I'll pull the car up  
front so you don't have to walk -- I'm parked way out." He glanced  
at Mulder, eyebrows drawing together. "*Rest*, Mulder. Believe  
me, you aren't even touching those files for at least two weeks." 

Mulder's pout deepened, then he leaned toward Grey, who was  
lacing up his shoes. 

"You all right? What's this about not walking?" 

Grey waved his hand dismissively. "It's nothing. My back is still a  
little sore, no big deal. It's getting better." He reached over to place  
his hand on Mulder's wrist. "You know, I never really got to thank  
you for getting me out of there, Fox. I hope you know..." 

Mulder flipped his wrist and clasped his brother's hand. "I do. And  
it was nothing you haven't done for me. I'm just sorry you've been  
sucked into that part of my life, I never meant it to happen. It was  
selfish of me to ever contact you in the first place." 

"Shut up." Grey's tone was affectionate. "You're part of my family,  
Fox, and I want you in my life. Cancerman, Krycek, global  
conspiracies -- the rest doesn't matter. But you..." He closed his  
eyes and dropped his chin. "This one was way too close, little  
brother. I thought I was going to lose you." 

Mulder sucked in his lower lip, blinking hard. "I know the feeling." 

One corner of Grey's mouth turned up and he stood, giving  
Mulder's hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it. 

"Gotta go. I'm finally going to make things up to Kristen today.  
Walt's dropping me off at her place." 

"Don't put any unnecessary strain on that sore back," Mulder said,  
wriggling both eyebrows. 

"That all depends on your definition of unnecessary, doesn't it?"  
Grey replied, lifting his arms over his head in a stretch and wincing  
a little. He leaned over to give Scully a peck on the cheek, their  
eyes sharing a wealth of joy during the brief connection. "He's all  
yours, darlin'. Hope you're up to the challenge." 

"Why does everyone act like I'm going to cause trouble?" Mulder  
whined. 

Scully gave him "The Look." "Two words, Mulder. Past  
experience." 

Mulder put on an aggrieved face. "Scully, you wound me." He then  
emitted an enormous yawn. 

"Get some sleep, G-man," she said, undermining the order by  
smiling. 

Mulder shook his head stubbornly, though his eyes were drowsy.  
"Uhn uh. Do you realize this is the first time we've really been  
alone in over a week? I don't want to talk about going to bed,  
unless you'd like to..." He pulled back the covers and offered her  
his most lascivious look. 

Scully rolled her eyes. "Here? Not in your most triple X dreams,  
Mulder, even if you were up to it -- which you're not," she added  
hastily before he could pounce on the obvious double entendre. 

Mulder released the sigh of the terribly oppressed. "Fine. Then just  
get up here and let me hold you. Does that fall within your  
standards for hospital etiquette?" 

Scully gazed at him, drinking in the sight like a cup of cool water.  
A long and undoubtedly bumpy road to full recovery, but alive.  
ALIVE. 

She kicked off her loafers and crawled up on the mattress, letting  
Mulder gather her in like a lost chick until her head rested on his  
chest. 

"You sure this is all right, love?" she asked worriedly, hearing the  
crackling of his breath as his lungs expanded and contracted. 

"Mmm. Better than all right, babe. Perfect." She felt his lips press  
the crown of her head and tightened her arm around his too slim  
waist. 

"Have to fatten you up, Mulder," she observed, the soft hospital  
gown tickling her cheek. "Time to break out the secret weapon." 

"Gonna call your mom, huh?" 

"Yep. And just so there's no mistake -- you're coming home to my  
place. I can take care of you better there." 

Scully felt him shift, heard his heartbeat speed up a bit, and  
frowned. She lifted her head to regard him solemnly. "Out with it,  
Mulder. You don't want to come to my place?" 

Scully half-expected to encounter the blank, guarded expression  
that signaled Mulder's defenses in high gear. Instead, a variety of  
strong emotions flitted across his face. 

"No. No, Scully, it isn't that at all, I..." 

Scully deliberately lay her head back down, knowing he could  
more readily find the words he sought without enduring her  
scrutiny. "Take your time, love. I'm listening." 

Mulder's hand crept up and buried itself in her hair, his fingers  
weaving slowly through the individual strands. "I... I had a dream  
while you were gone. A very vivid dream." 

"Not surprising," Scully murmured. "Between the high fever and  
the morphine." 

"This was different, Scully. I think... I think my subconscious was  
trying to tell me something. Or maybe it was just my heart," he  
added softly. 

Scully listened while quietly, painfully, he recounted the dream,  
his voice breaking when he got to the part where she'd faded away.  
She could sense the power of the images in the rigid feel of his  
body. To her, the meaning behind the dream shone clear as crystal  
\-- but could Mulder see? 

When he finished, Mulder paused and pulled in a gulp of air.  
"What do you think it meant, Scully?" 

*Ah, ah, ah. You don't get off that easy. This is your journey, my  
love.* 

Aloud, Scully kept her response neutral. "It doesn't matter what I  
think, Mulder. What do *you* think it means?" 

Mulder actually chuffed subdued laughter. "You been studying  
psychology behind my back, babe?" 

Unable to resist, Scully tipped her chin up onto his breast and  
cocked an eyebrow. "You know me, Mulder. I always read the  
owner's manual." 

They chuckled quietly together for a moment before the returning  
tension in Mulder's limbs told her he was about to speak. "I think it  
means I've been so screwed over by what people told me was love,  
that it's been hard to believe the real thing finally came along." 

Scully immersed her face in the gown, the words blazing a trail of  
warmth to the bottom of her soul. Did he finally understand? 

"I've wanted to believe it, Scully," he continued, the words hushed.  
"But I'm a coward. Every time I tried to let go, to accept that you  
could really love me as much as I love you, I'd think that sooner or  
later you'd realize you were making a big mistake. And how  
much it would hurt when you left." 

Hot tears burned her cheeks. "How could you think that, Mulder?  
We've been together over six years, I know exactly who you are,  
and I love that man. Why would you expect me to leave you?" 

Mulder's voice was rough. "It's all I know." 

Scully turned, inched up his body, and took his face between her  
hands, caressing his lips with her own even as the tears continued  
to slip down her face. When she'd rendered him sufficiently  
breathless, she pulled back and leaned her forehead against his. 

"Listen to me carefully, Mulder, because I'm not going to say this  
again. I. Will. Not. Leave. Are you reading me?" 

He caught her lips and gave as good as he'd received. "Loud and  
clear, babe. And I'll be glad to recuperate at your place on one  
condition." 

She kissed him again and snuggled back down. "Name it, Mulder.  
I'm feeling generous." 

His fingers found her hair again. "That as soon as I'm strong  
enough we look for a place together." 

Scully nuzzled his chest with her nose. "I think that's a great idea,  
G-man. Wish I'd thought of it." 

"Ha, ha," he returned, punctuating his sarcasm with another yawn. 

Scully could feel the anxiety drain out of his body and his  
breathing settle into a more regular pattern. She thought of  
Spender, of the disturbing revelations regarding Mulder's father  
and his secret legacy. She needed to share what she'd learned with  
Mulder, as devastating as the truth was likely to be. 

"Mulder?" 

"Hmm?" 

His response was heavy with fatigue, but urgency pressed her  
forward. 

"When I was with Spender, he revealed some things. Things you  
need to know." 

"Mmm hmm. Later, 'kay, babe? 'M kinda tired." 

She knew he was asleep before the last syllable, the hand in her  
hair settling lax on her shoulder. She burrowed a little more deeply  
into his side, relishing the warmth that denoted life. Now was  
probably not the time to hit him with the news of his father's  
betrayal. Better to tackle the whole mess when he was better,  
stronger. The truth would keep until then. 

Right?  
  


End  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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